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« YOU A MAN, AND STOOP TO STRIKE A WOMAN !” Pat?e 10 



1 f cTi /? * 

T he McAllisters. 


BY 

J 

MRS. E. J. RICHMOND. 



New York: 

National Temperance Society and Publication House, 
58 READE STREET. 

1871. 


! 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
J. N. STEARNS, • 

In tile Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


IX- if a £T 


JOHN ROSS & CO., PRINTERS, 27 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. 


CONTENTS 


►CM 

PAGE. 

The Home of the Drunkard, 5 

Brighter Prospects, 19 

The White House on the Hill, 37 

Dark Days Again, 50 

Suffer and Grow Strong, 66 

The Power of Faith, 81 

Dare to do Right, 99 

Making Home Happy, 119 

Shadow and Sunshine, 136 

The Gordon Family, 154 

A Mother’s Influence, i63 

F arewell Glances, 


i9S 



The McAllisters. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE HOME OF THE DRUNKARD. 

’M mad enough to fight. 
Wouldn’t I just like to knock 
him, though !” The little red 
fists were doubled up defiantly, and the 
dirty, tear-stained face was purple with 
passion. 

‘“Why, Jemmy,” said Maggie sorrow- 
fully, “ it was only last Sunday mother 
learned us that verse, ‘ Honor thy father 
and thy mother,’ and ha,ve you forgotten 
it so soon?” 

“ But he struck her, Maggie — struck our 



6 


The McAllisters. 


good mother, and he mustn’t do it ag’in, 
that’s all! What d yer s’pose Charley and 
Kate’ll say to that? They won’t preach 
any more about my bein’ patient, I’ll bet!” 

“He didn’t strike her, Jemmy?” 

“ But he did, though ! And what for ? 
Why, ’cos she went to prayer-meetin’, 
last night, and prayed. Hain’t she a 
right to pray if she wants to, I should 
like to know ? Oh ! but he mustn’t strike 
my mother ag’in.” 

“ No, Jemmy, I guess not, if we can help 
it ; but he’s awful to-night. Where’d he 
get his whiskey, I wonder ?” 

“He hain’t had no whiskey. He’s 
drunk on cider. He’s been to work over 
to Square Brown’s, and he alius gives his 
men cider. I’d like to tell him just what 
I think of him ! There, now, hear him.” 


The Home of the Drunkard. 7 

The fragment of a drunken song, inter- 
spersed with oaths and crashing earthen- 
ware, was heard, and then the door opened, 
and two little children crept out, and ran 
crying to sister Maggie, and hid their faces 
in the folds of her faded calico dress. 

“ Don’t cry, Nelly. Come, Johnny, be a 
man. Jemmy, take care of these children, 
will you? I must go in to mother.” 

John McAllister was swaggering around 
the room in a drunken fashion, now and then 
kicking aside the fragments of broken dishes 
which he had dashed upon the floor. Mrs. 
McAllister sat cr}dng in the corner, a pur- 
ple ridge, where he had struck her, seaming 
her fair white forehead. The hurt on her 
heart was deeper still ; for, amid all his bru- 
tality, this was the first time he had fallen so 
low as to strike her. She rose, and turned 


*8 


The McAllisters . 


her head as if trying to hide the ugly mark, 
when brave little Maggie came in. 

Maggie was very pale, but a resolute light 
shone from her clear gray eyes as she con- 
fronted the drunken brute she blushed to 
call father. She was a pleasant-faced young 
girl, short and thick-set, with a profusion 
of short reddish-brown curls, and a ruddy 
complexion, which was pale enough now. 

“ What does this all mean?” she said, 
looking at the broken fragments lying 
about. “ What has happened ?” 

“ I've happened to smash a few dishes, 
and I’ll break some more, ef she don’t travel 
around and git me a cup o’ tea when I tell 
her. Come, old ’ooman, step lively, or Fll 
sling some more o’ yer best chany up the 
chimbly !” 

“ No you won’t, father,” said the girl, 


The Home of the Drunkard. 9 

planting herself resoluteiy in his way as he 
staggered toward the table. 

“ Who’s a better right, I sh’d like ter 
know, gal ? Guess I’ll smash my own 
dishes, ef I’m a mind ter.” 

He slid into a chair as he said this, and 
looked up with bleared eyes into the bright, 
resolute young face before him. 

“ They are not your dishes, father. 
Mother bought them with her own hard 
earnings. You will not break another one . 
And what ails mother, can you tell me?” 

. “Wal, I struck her, I s’pose, the mean, 
snivellin’ Methodist ! She up and prayed, 
last night, in the prayer-meetin’, when I’d 
told her a’gin and ag’in I wouldn’t have 
none o’ her pesky religion nowhere round. 
I’ve bin bilin’ over all day about it. She’ll 
never stop to argy with me when I preach, 


IO 


The McAllisters . 


‘ Wives, submit yerselves to yer husbands/ 
only she goes on and does jest as she’s a 
mind ter, and she’s got to stop” And he 
stamped his old boot down on the clean 
sanded floor, as if that was the end of the 
matter. 

“ Look here, father McAllister,” said 
Maggie, pointing her finger steadily at him, 
and speaking slowly and distinctly, “you a 
man, and stoop to strike a woman, and that 
woman my own blessed mother — for shame /” 

She was a picture standing there, every 
feature quivering with indignation, and her 
clear eyes flashing. And the half-sobered 
man must have thought so, for he gazed 
silently at her a moment, and then, calling 
back the old bravado, he yelled out, “ Hoity- 
toity, gal ! yer a purty one, now — mother’s 
gal, ain’t ye? Ain’t yer ashamed o’ yerself, 


The Home of the Drunkard. 1 1 

now, sarcing yer own father up in that 
way ?” 

“ I am ashamed of my father ,” said 
Maggie ; “ but remember, now : don’t you 
never strike mother again, never.” 

There are some natures to whom gentle, 
yielding obedience is only the signal or 
provocative of fresh abuse and insult, 
and they are not rare, especially among 
drunkards. 

We are dealing with facts, not fancies. 
If we were drawing a picture from imagi- 
nation, our young heroine, Maggie McAllis- 
ter, might be portrayed as a model of gen- 
tleness, and docility, and reverence ; but she 
is a living woman to-day, and we picture her 
as she is, and simply record the fact, that all 
through her girlish years, instead of enjoy- 
ing the innocent pleasures of youth and 


12 


The Me A l listers 


revelling in the light of a happy home, as 
most young girls may do, she felt always, 
down in her heart, the shame and stigma, 
“ I am a drunkard’s child.” She alone could 
control her father in his drunken frenzy. 
She alone could protect her gentle mother 
and the little ones from his abuse, and all 
through the neighborhood she was known 
and honored as a brave, heroic girl. 

She left her father, now sitting moodily in 
his chair, and went to her mother’s side. 
She pulled away the handkerchief which she 
was holding over the wounded forehead, 
and kissed it tenderly. Then she bathed it 
in cold water for a little while, and, spread- 
ing a cloth carefully over it, she said, “ Sit 
quite still, dear mother. I will do up the 
work, and take care of the children, and 
you must rest. You have worked very 


The Home of the Drunkard. 13 

hard all da)% and you must mind me 
now.” 

Mrs. McAllister kissed the rosy face 
which was shining up into hers, and re- 
signed herself to the loving care of her little 
daughter thankfully. Mr. McAllister had 
fallen asleep in his chair. The little chil- 
dren had crept in silently, and were huddling 
in a corner of the wide fireplace. Maggie 
moved around the room noiselessly. She 
picked up the broken dishes, and carried 
them out; then, placing the remainder in 
a pan, she washed and dried them, and 
ranged them, bright and shining, on the 
cupboard shelves, and set the table back 
against the wall, spreading a white cover 
over it, the mother watching her with a plea- 
sant half-smile. Then she glanced around 
the room to see that all was tidy. The room 


H 


The McAllisters . 


glowed in the ruddy firelight, for the eve 
ning shadows had fallen. It was the one 
large room of a log-house to which the 
whiskey demon had brought the McAllis- 
ters, but there were no signs of the abject 
poverty usually seen in the drunkard's 
home. The secret was solved by the loom 
standing in one corner of the large room, 
with the spinning-wheel snugly tucked in 
behind it. It was the mother’s busy hands 
which kept the wolf from the door. The 
survey seemed to satisfy bright little 
Maggie ; and, going up to the little ones, 
she said : “ Come, children, it is time now 
for you to go to bed. I will go with you, 
and hear you say your prayers.” 

“ I sha’n’t say no prayers, to-night,” said 
Jemmy sullenly. 

“ Why not, Jemmy ?” 


The Home of the Drunkard. 15 

“ ’Cos I don’t feel like it. Guess you 
wouldn’t want to pray if you was as mad 
as I be !” 

“ Come here, Jemmy,” said his mother 
gently. 

He obeyed. 

“ What is the matter with my boy ?” 

“ He struck you, mother.” And the child 
grated his teeth as he looked round at the 
sleeping form of his father. He sat there, 
his face bloated and discolored, his head 
falling on one side, snoring heavily. Then 
he looked at his mother, with her gentle 
eyes and mouth, and high forehead, with 
the white cloth spread over it. 

“ See here, my darling, do you love your 
mother?” 

A look of the honest brown eyes was a 
sufficient answer. 


i6 


The McAllisters . 


“ Jemmy, in all my troubles I have had 
one dearly loved Friend, who has always 
stood by me and helped me. I love him 
so well that I look to him every day for all 
I want, and I would rather trust him than 
anybody in the world. I gave all my * 
children to him years ago, when he was 
good and kind. You are not your own 
Jemmy; you are bought with a price. 
Will you turn your back against moth- 
er’s best Friend, and my children’s best 
Friend ?” 

“No, I don’t want to do that; but I was 
so mad at him” pointing to the sleeping 
father. 

“ ‘ Forgive us our trespasses, as we for- 
give them that trespass against us.’ Pity 
him, Jemmy; do not be angry. It is not 
father, but the drink that makes him so. 


The Home of the Drunkard. 1 7 

Will you say your prayers, and forgive 
hint r 

“ I’ll try, mother/' And the little ones 
disappeared with sister Maggie up the 
narrow stairway. 

* If God is such a true friend to mother, 
why does he let us be so poor? Aunt 
Arabella ain’t half so good as mother, and 
she lives in a big house, and has every- 
thing she wants,” asked Jemmy, as Maggie 
took up the little tallow candle to go down- 
stairs. 

“ Why don’t you ask her, Jemmy ?” 

“ ’Cos she feels so bad, and I don’t want 
to worry her. And one thing more : she said 
I was bought with a price. How can that 
be, I wonder? Who would give anything 
for a little stub of a fellow like me? I 
wouldn't.” 


iS 


The McAllisters . 


Maggie set down the candle, laughing, in 
spite of herself, at the droll boy. Then she 
remembered the price that was paid, and 
was sobered instantly. 

“Dear little Jemmy, it was Jesus that 
bought us all, and the price he paid was 
his own blood. Mother says we’ve no 
right to be wicked, for when we were little 
bits of children she gave us to God ; so we 
are his. And the price he paid for us was 
the blood of Jesus. He gave his life that 
all little children might save theirs. His 
life for ours, you know ; so we are bought 
with blood.” 

“We are bought with a price; we are 
bought with blood.” These words kept 
chasing each other through Jemmy’s mind 
till they were mingled together, and he 
was fast asleep. 


CHAPTER II. 


A LITTLE LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE. 

HE young- McAllisters were up 
betimes the following morning. 
They saw the first golden beams 
of the sun as they came shimmering 
down through the tree-tops, and kissed 
the morning-glories over the window, 
and bathed the humble log-house in 
sunshine as warm and rich as flooded the 
white house on the hill. Johnny and Nell 
made their own toilets, and washed their 
chubby faces and hands in the spring that 
was hollowed out beside the brook which 
danced merrily by, only a little way from 
the house. Then Nelly combed out her 
long, glossy curls and Johnny’s short, crisp 



20 


The McAllisters . 


ones, looking into the brook for a mirror, 
and the little ones were ready for breakfast, 
which Maggie was preparing. Mother was 
already at the loom, and Jemmy was milk- 
ing the cow ; so, while they were waiting 
for their bowls of milk, the children came 
and stood beside their mother, and watched 
her sending the shuttles backward and for- 
ward, forming the bright stripes of the gay 
rag-carpet she was weaving. 

“ How pretty it is !” said Nelly. “ When 
.1 get big enough to work, I’m going to 
make pretty things, and let the dirty, 
homely things go. 

“ Come, breakfast is ready,” called the 
cheery voice of sister Maggie. And the 
little family gathered around the frugal 
board. 

The children took their bowls of mush 


A Little Light in a Dark Place . 21 

and milk contentedly, and Mrs. McAllister 
and Maggie broke open the nice baked 
potatoes, and spread them with the sweet, 
fresh butter, and this, with brown bread, 
constituted the entire meal. 

“ Why didn’t you cook some meat, 
Mag?” asked the father, pushing his plate 
from him. 

“ We haven’t had any meat in a week, 
father ; but you’ve been away, and may be 
you didn’t know it.” 

“ When I get this piece out of the loom, 
I shall get some tea ; I’m sorry we have 
none, this morning, John,” said Mrs. Mc- 
Allister, passing the bread to her moody 
husband. 

He was entirely sober, this morning, 
though feeling the effects of his yester- 
day’s excesses. He swallowed a few 


22 


The McAllisters . 


mouthfuls in silence, and then, swinging 
his scythe over his shoulder, took his way 
across the field. A general sense of relief 
seemed to manifest itself as soon as he was 
gone. 

“ Fm going out to get you some nice 
berries, mother,” said Jemmy. “ There’ll 
be plenty time afore school. I wish’t I 
could get you some tea, or somethin’ 
nice.” 

“ Berries will be something nice, I am 
sure, Jemmy; and mother had rather see 
her boy pleasant and happy than to have 
a whole chest of tea.” 

“ Come, little Nell,” called Maggie. 
“ Here’s something for you to do. Make 
these dishes just as bright and pretty as 
you can, and then put them up nice in the 
cupboard ; I will sweep and wash the 


A Little Light in a Dark Place . 23 

milk things, and then I must spin ever 
so much.” 

“ O dear ! that isn’t pretty work at 
all,” muttered Nell, pouting her red lips, 
and looking anything but happy. 

“ But it must be done, Nelly. We can’t 
have any drones in our hive, you know, 
little one,” called out the mother from the 
loom. “ See how nice and quick you will 
be, now.” And the child went about her 
task, thinking, though she did not dare 
say it : 

“ I wish there was no such thing as 
washing dishes or doing dirty work.” 

Meanwhile John McAllister was plod- 
ding over the fields, and his reflections 
were anything but pleasant. “ I am a 
scamp, and that’s a fact,” he soliloquized. 
“ I never’d a believed that my Fanny ’d a 


24 


The McAllisters . 


come to this when she promised to many 
me. And I struck her; I’m a brute, any- 
way. In her father’s house she had every- 
thing she wanted, and now she don’t have 
nothin’. And she never twits me, but jist 
works and works. If they’ll only keep the 
liquor away, I can help them at home a 
little; but the pesky stuff makes a fool of 
me. I wish I never’ d see another drop.” 

That night John McAllister went home 
sober, and astonished his family by throw- 
ing a sack of flour and a quarter of veal 
upon the table. 

“ O father! how glad I am! Now we 
can have some berry-pie and some biscuits. 
See if I don’t get you a nice breakfast, 
to-morrow morning !” 

“ I sha’n’t be here, Mag. I’m goin’ over 
to Barnes’s as soon as I get up, and I’m 


A Little Light in a Dark Place . 25 

a-goin’ to work there the rest of the 
season. They want Jem, too. They’ll 
give him half a dollar a day, and they 
want him a couple o’ weeks or so. Is’t 
best to let him go, mother?” 

“ O mother ! say yes, do ; and I can get 
me some good shoes, and some clothes to 
wear to meetin’. Please say yes, mother.” 

The father’s heart smote him at the 
eagerness the child manifested, and he 
secretly resolved that his children should 
no longer want for food or clothes. 

But what are the resolves of a man bound 
by the slavish chains of that deadly habit, 
intemperance? It waits like a tiger, ready 
to spring upon him at every corner. Men 
licensed by law to sell him the deadly 
poison which is destroying him soul and 
body, which is making beggars of his wife 


26 


The McAllisters. 


and little ones; professedly Christian men 
offering him wine, beer, and cider — such 
innocent beverages, but sure to waken the 
demon within him. What hope is there 
for him ? He, too, has been a professing 
Christian. His name still stands on the 

record of the old church at , for his i 

brethren fervently believe that, when one 
has once tasted of the joys of redeeming 
love, they will never finally fall away, j 
So they bear with the poor wanderer, j 
and wait for his return to liis Father’s l 
house. 

He can remember well when his babes .] 
were given, one after another, to God. He | 
had covenanted with his true, faithful wife 1 
and with the Holy One, “ to bring them up j 
in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.”] 
He had broken that vow, as well as the j 


A Little Light in a Dark Place. 27 

one he had made for himself ; but she had 
not. Her life-work was before her. Oh ! 
how often her weak woman’s heart had 
fainted within her as she looked forward 
to the desolate, thorny path of life as it 
stretched away before her ! Then she 
had put her hand in -his who had said, 
“ Thy Maker is thy husband ; the Holy 
One of Israel is thy refuge,” and the 
darkest places had been made light by his 
presence. To-night, the father was sober, 
and the children looked as if they hardly 
knew what to make of it. Little Nell 
even ventured to creep to his side, and 
take his hard, brown hand into her little, 
soft palms. He did not repel her. He 
even lifted her upon his knee, and passed 
his hand caressingly over the long, silken 
curls. 


28 


The McAllisters . 


“ What has Nelly been doing, to-day ? ’ 
he asked kindly. 

“ Oh ! been helping mother, and been to 
school, and ever so many things. I wish I 
had a prettier frock to wear, though, 
father. Should you like to wear such 
a faded, old, patched frock as this, fa- 
ther?” 

“No, I don’t believe I should. Is that 
the best you’ve got, Nelly?” 

“Yes, father; ’ceptin’ the one I wear to 
Sunday-school, and I mustn’t spoil that. 
The children do make fun of me some- 
times.” 

John McAllister looked down at the 
beautiful child upon his knee — his child, 
and thought, “ She, too, suffers for my sin. 
Where will the curse end?” 

“ And if you had a nice dress, Nelly, and 


A Little Light in a Dark Place. 29 

a pretty hat, what then? Would you be 
satisfied ?” 

“ Some ; but I should like a pretty dress 
for mother, too, and a nice house like Aunt 
Arabella’s, and a piano like Cousin An- 
nette’s. Oh ! if I could learn to play and 
sing as she does, father!” 

All these pleasant fancies, which seemed 
like visions of fairy-land to the little girl, 
might have been real the father thought, but 
for the insatiable love of strong drink, 
which had swallowed up all. Honor, and 
religion, and property, and self-respect — all, 
all gone — for what ? To satiate the fiery 
demon, which was ever crying, “ Give, 
give,” and yet was never satisfied. And this 
fair child, more beautiful than many of the 
pampered children of wealth, with her re- 
fined tastes, and her love for all fair and 


30 


The McAllisters. 


beautiful things, how proud and happy he 
might have been as her father; but now 
she was only a drunkard' s child, too young, 
happily, to fully realize all the misery em- 
bodied in that dreadful word. 

Some such thoughts as these crept 
through the poor man’s brain, not yet en- 
tirely degraded by his ruling passion, as he 
sat there. The child’s fair head had drooped 
/against his bosom, and she was fast asleep. 
Zvlaggie and her mother were sewing busily 
fby the light of the one tallow candle, while 
Jemmy, tired with his day’s work, had 
crept away to bed with his little brother. 

“ All right but me,” he thought, as he 
'looked at the busy fingers flying in and out 
of the coarse cloth they were sewing. “ I’m 
a good mind to say I’ll never drink another 
drop of liquor as long as I live,” he said at 


A Little Light in a Dark Place. 31 

last. “ If it wasn’t for that confounded stuff, 
I might a been well off, and little Nell here 
might a had her piany and fixings as well as 
her Cousin Annette. She’s a nuff sight 
purtier child any day, ef she is mine.” And 
he looked with a father’s pride upon the 
beautiful child asleep in his arms. 

“ If you only will try, John, we shall all 
be so happy, and we will try hard to help 
you.” 

“ I hain’t had nothin’ to complain on yit. 
If I’d a done my duty half so well as you, 
we never ’d a been here.” 

Mrs. McAllister bustled away around 
the room to hide the tears that would 
come, as these unusual words of kindness 
fell from her husband’s lips. She had long 
ago learned lessons of patient endurance. 
She could listen to cruel reproaches and 


32 


The McAllisters . 


threats without apparent emotion, though 
none but the All-seeing Eye marked the 
heart-aches that she suffered. The human 
heart never becomes insensible to suffering, 
and many a smiling lip and placid brow 
hides an aching heart. Here was a new 
lesson — kind words where she only ex- 
pected reproaches ! 

“ Who knows but he may yet be saved ?” 
And the tears fell thicker and faster, and 
she could not hide them now. 

“ Why, what’s the matter, Fanny ? What 
are ye cryin’ for? I’ve tried to make you 
cry ever so many times when I couldn’t, 
but I didn’t this time.” 

“ I guess it must be for joy, John. How 
happy we shall be if you will do only as you 
used to ! I know it isn’t you, John, for )^ou 
were never unkind till you began to drink, 


A Liitlc Light in a Dark Place . 33 

and we’ve gone down ever since. Now, if 
you will stop entirely beer, cider, and all 
that, the old, happy days will come back, 
or brighter ones.” 

“ Oh ! I can stop, Fanny, ef I only say so, 
but I won’t sign no pledges. I can do well 
enough without that.” 

The week rolled by, and yet another, and 
the poor man kept his promise, and they 
Avere the happiest days the family had 
knoAvn for years. But he had not been 
placed in circumstances of temptation. He 
trusted in his Own strength, and he believed 
he could do so safely, because it was not 
tried. Mr. Barnes, his employer, believed 
that his work-people had immortal souls as 
well as himself, and that the part of man 
which must live for ever needed the morn- 
ing and evening refreshment of prayer and 


34 


The McAllisters . 


praise as well as the body its morning and 
evening meal. So, whatever was the press 
of business, God was never forgotten, nor 
worldly business permitted to usurp the 
hour devoted to morning and evening 
worship. 

Listening to the once familiar words of 
inspiration, something of the old train of 
thoughts and feelings came over the man’s 
heart, deadened and embruted, as it had 
long been, by the stupor of drink. One 
night, Jemmy whispered softly to his 
mother that “ father knelt at players ” — this 
same man who, so short time ago, had struck 
her for praying. Every day, and many times 
in the day, she asked God to have mercy 
upon him ; to restore him to himself, to 
his family, and to the church once more. 

We read in the divine Word this promise, 


A Little Light in a Dark Place . 3 5 

“ Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name shall 
be done for you by my Father which is in 
heaven,” and this promise she plead un- 
ceasingly. How can it be, with this promise 
upon record, that those who have been the 
subjects of believing prayer for years, re- 
ject the last offers of mercy and destroy 
themselves at last? We can only under- 
stand it in this light — that God gives to 
every free moral agent the privilege of 
choosing his own destiny , and the dearest 
friend he has on earth cannot deprive him 
of that privilege. Witness our Lord’s cry 
over Jerusalem: “ O Jerusalem, Jerusa- 
lem ! how often would I have gathered 
you, even as a hen gathereth her brood 
under her wings, but ye would not.” ' Oh ! 
that fearful power of choice — with what 
awful responsibility it endows the soul, 


The McAlliste7's. 


36 

which must live for ever in the home of its 
choice, under the loving watch-care of God 
and the holy angels, or under the dominion 
of the prince of darkness, where “ the smoke 
of their torment ascendeth for ever and 
ever.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE WHITE HOUSE ON THE HILL. 

NNETTE, Annette, why are 
you not about your prac- 
tising ? Such a lazy child I 
never saw. Your teacher is coming, to- 
morrow, and what excuse will you have, 
for your lesson is not half-ready?” 

“O dear! I’m so tired, ma; and it’s so 
warm, and I do hate practising.” 

“ Your Cousin Nelly would be glad 
enough of your piano. If you hate prac- 
tising so much, and make me so much 
trouble, I guess I had better give it to 
her.” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t be for ever bring- 
ing up the McAllisters, ma. It’s bad 




3 « 


The Me A l listers. 


enough to have such cousins without being 
twitted about them.” 

“The McAllisters are just as good as 
you be, Miss Annette Golden,” spoke up 
little John, whose indignation was roused 
by any slight put upon his favorite cousins. 
“ You needn’t feel so stuck up, for Nelly is 
a great deal handsomer and better than 
you any day, if she does wear a patched 
frock.” 

“ Stop, John ; don’t you see you’ve got 
your sister to crying, now ? Such children 
I never did see.” And Mrs. Golden swept 
angrily down the room. In doing so, her 
dress caught under a jar in which a favor- 
ite white rose was growing. It was full 
of buds just bursting into bloom ; but alas ! 
for the beautiful plant, it was overturned 
by her sudden angry motion, and all the 


The White House on the Hill. 39 

tender young buds crushed beneath the 
dirt. Mrs. Golden did not see the other 
buds, more precious than those of her fa*- 
vorite rose, which she was crushing by her 
petulance and anger. She had enough to 
think of now, and John took himself out of 
the room in a hurry to avoid the impend- 
ing storm, while Annette went to the piano 
and commenced practising the hated les- 
son. Mrs. Golden was a professedly Chris- 
tian woman, and really believed herself one 
of the pillars of the church in which Mrs. 
McAllister was an humble member. When 
she drove to church in her handsome car- 
riage, and stopped, as she did, now and 
then, at the log-house to offer a seat to her 
less favored sister, she regarded herself 
with profound complacency, and almost 
wondered that fortune should make so 


40 


The McAllisters . 


little difference in her feelings toward 
the humble inmates of the log-house. 
Many a lecture did she volunteer for 
their benefit, and many a chapter on 
the training of children, for “ your chil- 
dren will be pretty apt to take after their 
father,” she said. 

Fanny McAllister listened in silence. 
She had been so long accustomed to “ suf- 
fer ’ that the thought of resenting these 
well-meant intrusions never occurred to 
her. Still, when she looked around upon 
her little flock, and wondered which one of 
the loved circle would verify her sister’s 
prediction — which one of those bright, 
happy faces should wear the mark of the 
beast and wring her heart with sorrow, a 
glad hope would spring up within her that 
at the last she should be enabled to say to 


The White House on the Hill . 41 


her divine Lord, her ever-present Friend, 
“ Here am I, and the children thou hast 
given me.” This should be her life-work, 
to save her children from their father’s fate, 
to fit them for usefulness here, and for hap- 
piness hereafter ; to this she would devote 
every energy of her being. And the de- 
voted love and affection with which they 
all regarded her was reward enough for 
her life of self-denying labor and love. 

“ Kate and Charles are coming home, 
to-morrow. Oh ! won’t it be jolly ?” said 
Jemmy, throwing up his cap in high glee. 
“ I’m done at Barnes’s, Maggie, and I’ve 
got money enough to get me a suit of 
clothes, boots and all! Now mother 
won’t have to get any more clothes for 
me.” 

“ Flow nice ! but the best of ail is, father 


42 


The McAllisters. 


hain’t drunk a bit in four weeks. Has he, 
Jemmy? How glad Kate and Charley 
will be!” 

“ No, Mag, nary a drop ; and I don’t 
feel a bit like strikin’ him now, for he is jist 
the best kind of a father.” 

u O Jemmy! we can say that verse 
now, can’t we — ‘ Honor thy father and thy 
mother’?” 

“ Guess we can, sis ; but about Kate 
and Charley. I mean to kill my biggest 
■chicken, if you can get it ready, and we’ll 
Jhave one good time.” 

“ Of course I can, and we’ll trim up the 
old log-house, and make it look like a 
palace.” 

Jemmy laughed heartily. 

All the pleasant little preparations 
which had made the children so happy 


The White House on the Hill. 43 

were completed, and the little feast was 
all ready to be served, when Charley and 
Kate drove up to the door, early on Satur- 
day afternoon. Kate was first to spring 
out, and, rushing into the house, she threw 
her arms around her mother’s neck, and 
gave her a hearty kiss. The children’s 
turn came next, and then there were lit- 
tle presents for them all — a pretty pink 
dress for Nell, a pound of tea for mother, 
a hat for Maggie ; “ and Charles has nice 
caps for James and Johnny,” she said. 
Charles’s greeting was quite as affection- 
ate, if not as demonstrative, as his sister’s. 
He was a noble-looking lad, and Mrs. 
McAllister looked with a mother’s fond 
pride upon her eldest born, with his clear, 
honest eyes and broad, high forehead. 
“ He will make his mark in the world,” she 


44 


The McAllisters . 


said often to herself, as she observed his 
strict truth and high sense of honor, boy 
though he was. He had early chosen 
Christ for his portion, and, with his sister 
Kate, was a member of the same church as 
his mother. 

“ How much I have to be thankful for!’' 
she thought, as she looked around the 
happy group gathered around the supper- 
table, on which Maggie had spread her lit- 
tle feast very invitingly. There was the 
nice fricasseed chicken, with baked pota- 
toes, white and floury, a luscious berry 
shortcake, the sweetest of golden butter, 
and cream biscuits, the very pride of 
Maggie’s heart. A broken pitcher filled 
with the brightest flowers occupied the 
# centre of the table; and, better than all, 
the father, a sober man, and kind and lov- 


The White House on the Hill ’ 45 

ing as any father now, sat at the table with 
the ever-kind and gentle mother, and all 
tJie children were at home. In the darkest 
lives, there are crowning moments of joy 
and blessing, and this seemed one of them 
to the long-tried and careworn mother. 
She looked backward over the long, dark 
years through which she had struggled, 
wearily yet trustingly, and thought ' of the 
little ones, cold and hungry sometimes, and 
often cowering in fear from the fury of the 
drunken father. Now they were all here, 
and children for whom no mother need to 
blush. 

There were much merry talk and laugh- 
ter, and the flower-decked room of the log- 
house contained more happy hearts that 
night than many a lordly home. Charles’s 
employer had advanced his wages, and he 


4 6 


The McAllisters. 


was rapidly mastering his trade. In a year 
or two, he hoped to be able to go into 
business for himself. 

“ Slow and sure is the safest motto, 
Charles ; you will not be in too great a 
hurry.” 

“ Never fear, mother; but hadn’t you bet- 
ter give a word of caution on that head 
to sister Kate ? She is becoming a famous 
dairy-woman, and Henry Merton is in 
great need of a superintendent of his fine 
dairy.” 

Alt eyes turned upon Kate, who colored 
rosy-red to the very tips of her ears. 

“You are a little too hard on Kate, I 
guess, my boy. I am glad to hear she 
pleases Mrs. Elton so well.” 

Kate’s eyes said, “ Thank you, mother 
dear,” but her lips said nothing, and soon 


The White House on the Hill . 47 

the conversation changed to a pleasanter 
subject. 

“ Children who never leave home don’t 
half-know what a pleasant spot it is,” she 
said, by-and-by. 

“ Everybody hasn’t got such a pleasant 
home as we have,” answered Charles, who 
looked fondly up at his mother, looking so 
serenely happy among her children. 

“ What do you think about Cousin An- 
nette’s home, Charley ?” queried little Nell, 
looking around the plain, uncarpeted room, 
and mentally contrasting it with her cou- 
sin’s elegant home. 

“ I think, Miss Nelly, that I would not 
exchange homes with Annette, fine as hers 
may be ; and as for mothers, I wouldn’t 
swap our own dear mother for any in the 
world.” 


48 


The McAllisters . 


“Nor I!” “Nor I!” echoed the merry 
group. 

What is the magic power which dwells 
in that word home ? What potent art did 
this weak woman wield which could 
turn that most cheerless, desolate spot 
on earth, the home of the drunkard, 
into a loved sanctuary of rest and 
peace, where all holy and pure affec- 
tions should take root, and grow, and , 
bear fruit? “ Tis home where the heart 
is !” some one has truthfully written. It is j 
not the outward beauty of the person 
which wins our love. The pearly com- 
plexion, and glossy curls, and sparkling 
eye may command our admiration , but not 
love . It is the quality of soul that wins 
that . And the home where wealth and art 
have lavished their treasures and given its \ 


The White House on the HilL 49 

chief attraction is not to be compared with 
the humblest shelter where, in the atmo- 
sphere of pure, unselfish love and affection, 

. the soul may find rest and peace. Love is 
a treasure which gold cannot buy, and the 
fairest home without it is a beautiful body 
without a soul. 


CHAPTER IV. 


DARK DAYS AGAIN. 

HERE have you been, Jemmy, 
and what makes you look 
so glum?” asked Maggie, one 
day, as her little brother came slowly up 
to the house, his hands clasped behind 
him, and a dark, troubled look settling 
down like a cloud upon his usually frank, 
open face. 

“ I’ve been fishin’ with Johnny Golden, 
and — and — I guess I won’t tell the rest.” 

“Why not, Jemmy? You haven’t been 
naughty, I hope?” 

“ I dunno ; I didn’t mean to, but I got 
Johnny awful mad. It was only the truth, 
though, that I told him ; and he called me a 




Dark Days Again. 


5i 


white-livered skunk, and said he didn’t 
want none o’ my preaching.” 

“ And you didn’t get mad yourself, 
Jem ?” 

“ Guess I am, a little bit. Guess any- 
body would be.” 

“I am sorry, Jemmy; but tell me all 
about it, won’t you ? I hope you wasn’t to 
blame.” 

“Well, you see, we sot there a-fishin’, 
and havin’ the tallest kind of a time, and 
John he begun to tell me about his brother 
Sam’s cornin’ home tight, and I said it was 
awful, and he said ’twasn’t, ’twas the best 
kind of fun. He said he had stole his 
mother’s wine lots o’ times, and sometimes 
he got pretty near tight himself ; and I 
said I’d steal jest about as soon as I’d get 
drunk; and then he called me that name, 


52 


The McAllisters 


and I jist came off and left him. Mean 
little chap ! I won’t go fishin’ with him 
no more, see if I do ! ” 

Just then John Golden came sauntering 
up the path, with his fish-pole slung over 
his shoulder, and a string of fine speckled 
trout in his hand. “ How d’e do, Cousin 
Maggie?” he called out, offering his left 
hand. “ Will you give this string of fish to 
Aunt Fanny, with my compliments ? And 
where is pretty Nell, to-day ?” 

“ She has gone to visit Kate ; but mo- 
ther is in. Won’t you come in ?” 

“ No, I guess not. Jem and I have been 
having a bit of a tiff; I s’pose he’s told 
you. Don’t you think he’s a goose to talk 
as he did ?” 

The Bible says, Johnny, ‘Look not upon 
the wine when it is red. At the last, it 


Dark Days Again . 53 * 

biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an 
adder.’ I would let it alone, cousin. 
Look at poor father ; see what he is, and 
where we are, and think what he might 
have been if it hadn’t been for drink. You 
mustn’t blame Jemmy that he hates it like 
poison.” 

“ But, Maggie, you don’t mean to 
compare me with Uncle John, I 
hope?” 

“ When father was a boy like you, he 
would have said just so, may be. He no 
more expected to be a drunkard than you 
do. But, John, he hasn’t drunk a drop of 
liquor in five weeks. Who knows but he 
may be a sober man yet ?” 

“ Where is he, to-day ?” 

“ Gone down to the village to get some 
things. Mother sent a basket of eggs 


54 


The McAllisters . 


along, for we don’t have money to buy 
things with as your folks do, John.” 

“ I hope he’ll come back straight, 
Maggie, but the village is a bad place for 
him.” 

“ I know it. O dear ! but as long as he 
lives in the world he must find these bad 
places. People will sell liquor or give it 
away everywhere, and he’s never safe. If 
he was dead and safe in heaven, I shouldn’t 
feel half so bad.” 

“ Why, Mag, that’s awful.” 

“ And I guess you’d be awful if you had 
lived such a life as I have, John. If it 
wasn’t for mother, I’d a run away years 
ago. I’ve lived in shame and fear ever 
since 1 can remember — a drunkard’s child, 
that’s Avhat I am, and it’s horrible ; and 
even now I can’t hope this will last, for he 


Dark Days Again . 


55 


thinks he’s so strong. He’ll come home 
drunk, may be, this very night And, 
Johnny, the very worst of all is, no drunk- 
ard can go to heaven. Am I so very bad for 
wishing he was safe there ?” 

“ But, Maggie, if they repent, and stop 
dirnking, and do right, they can go to 
heaven as well as anybody.” 

“Yes, but they wont , that’s where it is. 
If an angel stood beside them, begging 
them not to drink, it wouldn’t make any 
difference. If Death held the cup in his 
very hand, they’d take it, and go with him 
right into the very flames.” 

“ What ails you, Maggie ? How you do 
talk, and you look as if you’d seen a ghost.” 

“ I feel dreadfully to-night, John. It’s 
time father was at home ; he said he would 
oe here two hours ago.” 


5 ^ 


The McAllisters . 


Late in the night, John McAllister reeled 
up to the door of his dwelling, and filled 
the night air with his drunken shouts and 
curses. Mrs. McAllister’s heart sank 
within her as she listened to the old, fami- 
liar sounds. Neither she nor Maggie had 
closed their eyes in sleep, for the dread 
foreboding of evil hung so heavily upon 
them ; and now, fearing to leave her 
mother to encounter his drunken fury 
alone, Maggie came down, and undid the 
fastening of the door. 

“ Keep me out do-ors, will ye, ye blasted 
old ’ooman ? Lock your own husband out 
door, hey ! I’ll l’arn ye ; ye’ll jist go out 
door yerself, and every one o’ yer brats !” 

Maggie by this time had lit the candle, 
and stood confronting her drunken fa- 
ther. 


Dark Days Again . 57 

“ What’s this fur ? Why ain’t ye in bed, 
Mag ?” 

“ I’ll go, father, by-and-by, after you 
have gone to bed, and 1 have locked the 
door.” 

“ But I ain’t agoin’ ; somebody’ll take 
an airin’, to-night, I reckon. Here, old 
woman, get up and see how ye like it.” 

Mrs. McAllister rose quickly, and threw 
a wrapper around her. 

. “ Go up-stairs, mother,” said Maggie 

hurriedly. “ As soon as he is quiet, I will 
be with you.” Then she turned to her 
father, and said, “ Come, father, it is very 
late, and you are tired.” 

“ And what if I be ? Is’t any o’ your 
business? Yer allers cumin’ atween me 
and the old woman for ever, an’ I won’t 
stan’ it. 

“ It is high time you were in bed, 


53 


The McAllisters. 


father,” was all the answer she made, 
standing calm and resolute. Glaring at 
her sullenly from beneath his shaggy eye- 
brows, he threw himself on the bed in his 
dirty boots, with his old hat drawn over 
his eyes, and was soon in a drunken sleep. 
Maggie sat down for a moment, pressing 
both hands over her throbbing head. Her 
mother must not see her thus, every nerve 
quivering with excitement. She bathed 
her head in cool water, looking at the crys-, 
tal drops, so clear and bright, as they fell 
from her fingers, and thinking, “ They can 
never wash away the stains from the 
drunkard's child? But when she joined 
her mother she was calm and quiet out- 
wardly. 

“ He is sleeping now, mother,” she said, 
“ and you must rest.” 

Thus the old days came back darker 


Dark Days Again . 


59 


and more dreary than before the gleam 
of hope had lit up their darkness. 

“ It was my last hope, and it has gone,” 
said the mother to her true-hearted daugh- 
ter when they were alone. 

“ Mother, you have done your whole 
duty. Let this content you, and do not 
grieve too much. We will do the very 
best we can, and that is all we can 
do.” 

“Yes, and we will leave the rest with 
God. O Maggie ! you have been such a 
comfort to me — my very right arm ! I 
don’t know what I could do without 
you.” 

“And I had rather hear you say that, 
mother, than to be as beautiful as sister 
Nelly.” 

“ A beautiful soul is the very highest 


6o 


The McAllisters . 


kind of beauty, my daughter. I must 
give up your poor father, I fear; but 
if I can only save my children — every 
one of them — from his fate, my life will 
not be entirely lost. And I do thank 
God for my children. Thus far, they 
have only been a comfort and a bless- 
ing to me.” 

“ You forget, mother, when you worked 
so hard night and day to get food and 
clothes for us.” 

“No, I do not. It kept me from de- 
spair. To work for those we love is only 
pleasure.” 

“Well, mother dear, you have plenty 
of pleasure, then ; and if we are ever 
ungrateful enough to forget all you have 
done for us, we do not deserve a 
thought.” 


Dark Days Again. 61 

“We have many blessings yet to thank 
God for, Maggie. Here in the country 
there is plenty of work, and work means 
food, clothing, respectability. We are not 
despised because we are poor, but the 
very best people are our best friends. 
Then we have fruit and flowers, and sweet, 
fresh air, and sunshine. We ought to be 
very thankful for all the blessings of God, 
my child.” 

“ I know it, mother, and I do try to be. 
I wouldn’t mind the poverty, nor the hard 
work, but he is growing worse and worse. 
This isn’t the will of God, surely ; and 
then, there’s the shame and the disgrace 
of it. You are just as much a lady as 
Aunt Arabella, and she has everything that 
heart can wish, and she looks down on 
you, mother. And Cousin Annette, if I 


62 


The McAllisters . 


could have her privileges, wouldn’t I im- 
prove them better than she does?” 

“ I think you would, my dear, because 
you do your duty so well in the place you 
are ; but your Aunt Arabella is not as 
happy a woman to-day, Maggie, as I am. 
I wouldn’t exchange my jewels for. hers 
to-day.” 

Maggie looked up into her mother’s face 
with questioning surprise. 

Mrs. McAllister was a fair, pleasant- 
faced woman, with dark-brown hair 
combed smoothly back from a high, 
broad forehead, but neither her small, 
well-shaped ears nor her toil-stained 
hands bore any traces of ornament. 
Not even a brooch fastened the plain 
linen collar she always wore. 

“ You always look nice, mother, and are 


Dark Days A gam. 63 

pretty enough without jewels, I am sure, but 
I don’t quite understand what you mean.” 

“ Let me tell you a story, then, and per- 
haps you can guess where I keep my jew- 
els. We read in ancient history that the 
Roman ladies were very proud of their 
collections of beautiful jewels, and that 
they used to exhibit them to each other 
on their visits with the greatest pleasure. 
There was one noble lady, named Corne- 
lia, who, from her rank and standing, was 
supposed to possess a rare collection. 
One of her lady visitors one day asked 
to be permitted to see her jewels. She 
brought her children to the lady, and said 
proudly, “ These are my jewels,” and these 
words of the noble lady will never be for- 
gotten while the world stands, because 
they are so true.” 


6 4 


The McAllisters . 


“ It is a pretty story, mother, and I wish 
it might apply to your children, but it 
seems to me you are contented with very 
plain jewels. Nelly, now, who is so beau- 
tiful— ” 

“ Hush, child ! she is no more beautiful 
to me than my Maggie— ” 

“ Who is only a very ordinary lump of 
clay, mother And good brother Jemmy! 
The minister’s wife said the other day that 
‘ he was a diamond in the rough.’ You 
do the polishing, you know, so may be 
that’s the secret !” 

“ I shouldn’t do much trying to polish 
a lump of clay, my child ; so you see 
I must have a real diamond to begin 
upon.” 

“Well, mother, it is nice to hear you 
talk so anyway, and to forget that I am 


Dark Days Again . 65 

only a drunkard’s child even for a mo- 
ment.” 

“ My darling, I will say to you as you 
said to me but a moment ago, You are 
not to blame. You have done your 
whole duty. Let that content you.” 


CHAPTER V. 


SUFFER AND GROW STRONG. 

AP’N GORDON, I heard some- 
body a-sayin’ that you want- 
ed to hire a boy.” 

“ Well, John, I have been looking around 
some time trying to find a smart, likely boy 
to help me on my farm. My boys are 
young yet, and my suits keep me away 
from home most of the time.” 

‘‘Any new lawsuits afoot now, Cap’n?” 

“No; but the old ones hang on won- 
derfully ; but I’ll beat ’em, if it takes the 
last cent I’ve got on airth. Have a chow, 
McAllister?” 

“Thankee, don’t care ef I du. You al- 
ius have sech nice tebaccy, Cap’n Gordon, 



Suffer and Grow Strong. 67 

and 37-011 are such a beater on a lawsuit. 
Ef I understood the law as you du, I 
shouldn’t want no better fun than to be 
inter it all the time.” 

“Wal’, I don’t lack a great deal of it 
now, John; but about that boy?” 

“ Oh ! I’d forgot. I was a-thinkin’ may 
be you’d want my Jemmy, a stout, smart 
fellow as you often see, and big enough 
to airn his own livin’.” 

“You don’t mean Charle} 7 ?” 

“La, no. He’s been with Boss Ander- 
son this three year an’ over; goin’ into 
partnership afore long, he tells me.” 

“But Jemmy must be a leetle shaver, 
not big enough to airn much, I reckon.” 

“ He’ll airn as much as any boy of his 
size you can scare up, if his name is Jem 
McAllister, Cap’n Gordon.” 


68 


The McAllisters . 


“Oh! sartin, sartin, John. The boy is 
well enough, no doubt. What do you say 
to five dollars a month and found?” 

“ Agreed ; but it does seem as ef you 
might say seven.” 

“ Couldn’t think on’t. Lawsuits cost 
enormous, and everything counts up. 
Well, we’ll say it’s a bargain; and now, 
what’ll you take, John?” 

The two men were seated tilted back 
in their chairs on the tavern stoop, their 
legs crossed on a level with their heads, 
and had been busily engaged, during the 
foregoing conversation, firing jets of to- 
bacco-juice at the dirty pillars of the porch. 
Now they came down and presented them- 
selves at the bar, where Captain Gordon 
called for brandy and sugar, which they 
sipped with infinite satisfaction. 


Suffer a?id Grow Strong . 69 

“ That’s capital brandy,” said McAllis- 
ter, eyeing the vile compound longingly, 
as he set down his empty glass, and smack- 
ed his lips appreciatively. 

“Have another glass?” 

“ Thankee, don’t keer if I du. That mis- 
’able Barnes and his crew would stop this 
ere ef they only could. Jest think of it: 
stop a man selling this happifying stuff 
that makes a poor man feel rich. I’d 
ruther' he’d take the bread out o’ my 
mouth.” 

“ Precious little you’d have to take out 
if it warn’t for that wife o’ yourn, McAllis- 
ter,” muttered a neighbor who was loung- 
ing by. 

“What’s that?” growled McAllister. 

“ I was only saying that you made a 
little mistake, John. The stuff makes many 


70 


The McAllisters. 


a rich man poor, whether he feels it or 
not.” 

“ What do you drink it for, then ?” 

“ Sure enough ! You tell. I wish there 
wasn’t another drop in the world.- It 
has ruined me, and my family too.” 

“ Come, come, neighbor,” said the Cap- 
tain, turning round and reaching out a 
glass of the ruby-colored liquor. “ You 
are a leetle blue, ain’t you? Take a drop 
of the ‘ oh ! be joyful,’ and you’ll feel better.” 

The man looked irresolutely at the 
tempting glass for a moment. A pale, 
tearful face seemed to come between him 
and its baleful light, but the demon within 
was clamoring with burning thirst, and 
he reached out his trembling hand and 
took the fiery draught, and swallowed it i 
in an instant. 


Suffer and Grow Strong. 71 

“Hi ti tol, ti fi rol lol — liberty’s sweet, 
and so is licker. No petticoat govern- 
: ment for me,” shouted McAllister, who 
| was now far gone in intoxication. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the redoubtable 
Captain, who wanted to save money from 
the wages of his workpeople to pay the 
expenses of his lawsuits. 

The brandy had opened his heart and 
his purse-strings too, and money flowed 
freely. 

“ That Barnes is a confounded puppy. 
Pm a temperance man myself ; but these 
meserable prohibitionists, wouldn’t I jest 
like to get ’em in a squad together and 
fire into ’em? I’d make quick work with 
’em, I tell ye.” 

The worthy landlord nodded approving- 
ly at this generous outburst of the Captain 


72 


The McAllisters . 


while he poured out his poisonous liquors, 
and cast his eyes toward the door in search 
of new victims. 

But we will leave these worthy repre- 
sentatives of the law-making power, and 
turn for a few moments to look upon those 
whom the law is supposed to pro- 
tect. 

The floor of the little log-house is white 
as hands can make it, and the sunlight, 
stealing through the vines, falls in change- 
ful pictures upon it. But nobody notices 
the vines, or the sunlight, or the pretty 
pictures they are making upon the floor. 
There is homely work to do. Patter, pat- 
ter go the busy little feet back and forth, 
back and forth, while the busy whirr of 
the great wheel gives forth monotonous 
yet pleasant music ; and the bang-bang of 


Suffer and Grow Strong , . 73 

the loom in the corner tells the secret of 
the daily bread. 

What ails busy little Maggie? For, as 
she goes back and forth twisting the soft, 
fleecy rolls into fine, soft yarn, she is frown- 
ing unmistakably, and faster and faster 
buzzes the wheel, as if it were a relief to 
her angry feelings. 

By-and-by, she stops short with : “ I 
should just like to make one law my- 
self.” 

“ And what would it be, Maggie ?” 

“ I would make a law that the men who 
make drunkards should be hung just like 
any other murderers.” 

“It is a dreadful crime, my child; but 
the law, instead of punishing the crime, 
licenses it.” 

“Yes, mother; and that is what makes 


74 


The McAllisters . 


me so mad. Here we are working every 
minute of every day to get food enough 
to keep body and soul together, and every 
dollar that father earns goes for whiskey 
and tobacco. And the men who make the 
laws license men to rob him because he is 
foolish and weak.” 

“But we can do nothing, Maggie.” 

“ Yes, we can, we do, suffer.” 

“ If we can only ‘sufferand grow strong,’ 
as I read the other day ! And, mother, 
I’ve been thinking. How can any one be fit 
to make laws to govern others when the}’ 
can’t govern themselves? I don’t know a 
man who thinks it is right to use tobac- 
co. They say it is a foolish habit, yet 
they use it, and they can’t help themselves. 
Then they say drunkenness is wrong, and 
they will drink whiskey. If ‘ weak and 


Suffer and Grozv Strong. 75 

silly women ’ were weak and silly enough 
to drink a hundredth part of the whiskey 
or use tobacco as they do, what then?" 

“ Why, Maggie dear, you are getting 
excited. You forget how many good, noble 
men there are who do try to put down all 
these terrible evils — who would protect us 
if they could/' 

“No, mother, I do not forget; but I am 
talking about the men that make the laws 
which license robbery and murder — for 
drunkards’ wives and children are robbed 
and murdered every day by law." 

“They will dub you a ‘ woman’s-rights’ 
advocate if you go on in this way, child." 

“ Well, mother, right is right , whether it 
is a man’s right or a woman’s, and they 
cannot call me anything worse than I am — 
a drunkard' s child .’’ 


;6 


The McAllisters. 


“O Maggie! there are things a thou- 
sand times worse than that, though I pray 
God you may never know them.” 

“ O mother ! what can be worse ? I 
know I have a right to a happy home, or 
as happy a home as I can make myself, 
and I have as much right to life, liberty, 
and happiness as if I were a man ; but my 
life is in danger. I am a slave. And hap- 
piness! — talk about happiness in a drunk- 
ard’s home ! And the men who make the 
bad laws are responsible ! They say they 
make the laws for our protection. Protec- 
tion with a vengeance it is ! They sell us 
body and soul for thirty pieces of silver. 
It only costs thirty dollars, mother, to get 
license to poison all the fathers in the com- 
munity; and then, woe to the wives and 
children !” 


Suffer and Grow Strong . 77 

Wheel and loom were still while Mag- 
gie, her clear gray eyes flashing with ex- 
citement, and the hot blood crimsoning 
cheek and brow, poured forth these vehe- 
ment words. Mrs. McAllister, gentle and 
long-suffering though she was, felt in her 
very soul that they were true ; but she 
had so long been accustomed to suffer 
without question or complaint, that she 
listened now in silence, while the tears 
dropped one by one on the web before her. 

“ Now, mother, I’ve made you cry, as 
if you didn’t have trouble enough before. 
Flow I could hate m} r self!” 

“ You haven’t made me cry, child, but 
all these things are too terribly true. If 
we alone were sufferers, it would not seem 
quite so hard, but there are thousands like 
us, thousands like your poor father.” 


73 


The McAllisters . 


“And the wrong is so great, mother, 
that it will not be suffered much longer. 
People must wake up by-and-by, and help 
will come ; I know it will. How it will 
come, I don’t know ; neither do I care, so 
that it comes . May be they will allow you 
and I to vote, mother, whether men shall 
be licensed to rob us. If that time ever 
does come, I don’t believe we shall enjoy 
just the kind of protection we do now. 
The man who degrades and robs his vic- 
tim at the same time will not stand higher 
ithan the simple robber.” 

“ I don’t believe that time will ever 
come, Maggie; and so long as so large a 
proportion of voters love whiskey, I can- 
not see how the laws are going to be any 
better. We can still pray, and that is 
;about all a poor woman can do.” 


Suffer and Grow Strong. 79 

“ Faith without works is dead, being 
alone, the Bible says, mother. Now, I 
haven’t as much faith as I wish I had, 
but the little I have shall go hand in 
hand with works. I will pray against 
the rumseller, and hit him whenever I 
can.” 

“ What, Maggie ! you don’t mean to 
turn pugilist?” 

“Yes, I do, with only truth for a wea- 
pon. Then I will pray for the poor 
drunkard, and lift him up whenever I 
can. So you see I’ve got something to 
do.” 

“ You will get enemies, my child.” 

“ Only enemies of the truth, mother 
dear, and who cares for their approval? 
The truth is, I can’t be like a piece of 
putty, or a bit of jelly, if I try. I’ve 


8o 


The McAllisters . 


had plenty of hard knocks ever since I 
can remember, and I’ve got to give 
some hard knocks in return. I’ve 
adopted my motto, ‘ Be sure you’re 
right, and then go ahead,’ and Pm 
going , you know.” 

“Well, may God bless you and guide 
you, my dear child. You have saved 
me from abuse and violence many and 
many a time, and I hope that some time 
you will have a home of your own 
where such things are unknown.” 

“ When I do have a home of my own, 
it will always be yours , mother.” 

“ You are very kind, but I shall stay 
with your poor father till the last. God 
has been my refuge thus far, and he will 
never forsake me.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE POWER OF FAITH. 

HEN John McAllister awoke the 
morning following his debauch, 
he had but an indistinct recol- 
lection of the events of the preceding 
night. Of the transaction in regard 
to Jemmy he remembered very well, 
but after that, and how he got home, 
was all like a confused dream in his 
mind. Maggie could have told him of 
his return at midnight, of oaths and 
curses and blows, on his part ; of cou- 
rage and entreaties and a resolute will, 
on her own ; and of the raving madman 
conquered at last, and sleeping the heavy 



82 


The McAllisters. 


sleep of the drunkard — but she forbore. 
Such scenes were too common now, and 
were a part of the heavy cross the young 
girl was forced to endure month after : 
month, and year after year. The heavy 
rings around her eyes sometimes told of 
the inward struggle, but outwardly she 
was calm and cheerful, and sometimes ; 
even gay. Mr. McAllister sat watching . 
the busy figure as it flitted in and out 
and around the room, making all bright : 
and tidy, and then turned to his wife, who 
was throwing the many-colored shuttles 
back and forth, with, “ I’ve hired Jem out, 
old ’ooman.” 

He always gave her this title now. 

“ Fanny ” seemed quite lost among the 
memories of the past. 

Mrs. McAllister paused with the shut- 


The Power of Faith . 83 

\ 

tie in her hand, and looked up enquir- 
ingly. 

“ Don’t set there staring like an owl. 
I’ve hired Jem out, I tell ye, and a good 
place he’s got too. Cap’n Gordon ’ll take 
some of his old-womanish kinks out of 
him, I’ll bet. He’ll larn to drink and 
swar like a trooper agin he’s been there 
three months, I’ll be bound.” 

Mrs. McAllister did not reply. She 
knew by sad experience how utterly use- 
less it would be. So she resumed her 
work, sadly thinking, “ How can I pray 
that prayer for my darling boy, ‘ Lead 
him not into temptation,’ when we thrust 
him there ? I can pray, ‘ Deliver him from 
evil,’ and in God alone I put my trust.” 

She had a long talk with the boy that 
evening, and told him of the dangers 


8 4 


The McAllisters . 


which would beset him — of the new 
temptations he would meet. He readily 
gave the promise that he would never 
taste a drop of the poison which had 
ruined his father, and well-nigh crushed 
his mother’s heart, and that no profane 
word should ever pass his lips. 

“ You have never given me reason to 
doubt you, my dear boy,” she said ; “ I 
can trust you, and that will make my 
heart light when I think of you.” 

“ Yes, mother, trust me. I am glad to 
go away, and earn something to buy a 
home with, and then you shall come and 
live with me, and he sha’n’t abuse you 
any more.” 

Mrs. McAllister smiled sadly. “ I am 
very happy in my children,” she said. 
“ Already four homes have been offered 


The Power of Faith . 85 

me as soon as they are ready ” she playfully 
continued. “ I will tell you, now that 
you are going away, Jemmy, your sister 
Kate will be married soon, and Charlie 
will marry pretty Mary Anderson within 
a year.” 

“ Oh ! won’t that be jolly ! And shall we 
have a wedding when Kate goes off?” 

“ No, dear boy,” said the mother 
sadly. “ Weddings and merry-makings 
are not for such as we, but we may be 
glad and happy still ; for Mary is a 
lovely girl, and neither she nor her 
father looks down upon Charlie because 
— he is poor,” she said hesitatingly. 
“ Henry Merton, too, is a fine young 
man, and much attached to Kate.” 

“ Oh ! yes, mother, Henry is a capital 
fellow, and he is to be — lem me see, 


86 


The McAllisters . 


my brother-in-law. Yes, that’s it ; and 
Mary is to be my sister-in-law.” And 
the boy looked down involuntarily upon 
his hard, toil-stained hands and patched 
garments, as he thought of the fair, deli- 
cate girl, his future sister-in-law. “ Will 
she come here? Won’t she be ashamed 
of us?” he asked as he looked around 
the humble room. 

“ She loves Charles, and will love all 
belonging to him, doubtless. So we will 
not trouble ourselves about our poverty, 
for she will not, I’m sure.” 

Jemmy felt the confidence which his 
mother reposed in him. “ She may 
trust me,” he said to himself again and 
again ; “ and if I’m to have such grand 
relations, I mustn’t be quite so rough. 
I’ll do the best I can, anyway, so that 


The Power of Faith . 87 

nobody need be ashamed of me, or dis- 
appointed in me.” 

When Captain Gordon came for his 
farm-boy, John McAllister was surprised at 
the cheerfulness with which the good-bys 
were said, and contented himself by say- 
ing, “ The boy is glad to get away from 
hum, old ’ooman, thanks to yer preachin’. 
He’ll hear a different kind, o’ sarmons, I 
reckon, now but the wife made no re- 
ply, and the flash of Maggie’s eye warned 
him that enough had been said on that 
subject. Constantly under the influence 
of the vilest liquor, habitually doing vio- 
lence to the voice of conscience, it was 
hushed at last, and all traces of man- 
hood seemed to have faded foi ever 
from the unhappy wretch. A cringing 
fear of Maggie seemed to be all that 


88 


The McAllisters . 


restrained him now from acts of vio- 
lence. Jemmy came close to his mo- 
ther’s side, and whispered, “ You can 
trust me, mother,” and the loving 1 smile 
which answered him warmed his heart 
for many a dreary day. 

The sound of wheels died away in the 
distance, and Mr. McAllister was saunter- 
ing listlessly by the roadside, as Maggie 
and her mother resumed their toil. The 
daily bread for all the family depended 
on the work of those hands now, and 
there were no idle moments. 

“ Mother,” called Maggie, from amid 
the music of her whirring wheel, “ it 
cannot be our duty to do what is im- 
possible, can it, now ?” 

“ What a question, Maggie ! What are 
you thinking about?” 


The Power of Faith . 89 

“ About ‘ love, honor, and obey,’ mo- 
ther. Now, we cannot love what is 
wicked and repulsive ; we cannot honor 
what is dishonorable ; we cannot bring 
ourselves to obey one far beneath us — 
one so much the slave of sin that we 
ourselves become slaves if we obey — can 
we, mother ?” 

“ You put the questions *in a strong 
light, Maggie.” 

“ The true light is a strong one, mo- 
ther, but the way looks dark enough. 
It is ‘ till death do you part.’ Think of 
it ! Now, I will not be wicked enough 
to ask you, Can you keep that vow ? be- 
cause you have the patience and gentle- 
ness and meekness of a saint, and you can 
do anything that is right. But for poor 
me the case is very different. I am not 


90 


The McAllisters . 


at all good, and if I should marry 
George, and he should prove to be like 
— like — so many others, I never, never 
could love him. I should hate him, I 
know I should, if he should come about 
me foolish and maudlin, and reeking with 
whiskey fumes.” 

“Can you think of such a thing in con- 
nection with George, my dear Maggie ?” 

“ I ought not, may be. I like him pretty 
well, better than I do anybody else, but he 
is human ; and so many have thought they 
were marrying good, noble men, and they j 
have turned out drunkards. I never could 
live with a drunkard. That’s out of the 
question entirely.” 

“And yet — ” 

“Yes, yes, mother dear; I know just 
what you would say, but if I have lived with 


The Power of Faith, 91 

a drunkard all my life, he is my father, and 
I have borne it for my mother’s sake. But 
it has hurt me ; it has made me hard and 
unnatural. Talk of ‘the ivy and the oak,’ 
and of woman’s gentle, clinging dependence 
on the strong manly arm ! It is a pretty 
picture, but false, oh ! so false. If it had 
been true to life, what would have become 
of you, mother, and of us all?” 

“ When earthly props fail, my child, we 
may turn to One that can never fail us. 
Many and many a time has that divine 
promise comforted me : ‘ Thy Maker is 

thy husband : the Lord of Hosts is his 
name.’ ” 

“Your faith is your tower of strength, 
dear mother, because it is founded upon 
God. But for me the question is, ‘ Is it 
best to trust anybody ?’ ” 


92 


The McAllisters . 


“ It must be dreadful not to trust any- 
body, child. You remember reading, the 
other day, 

‘Tis better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all.’ 

I believe that sentiment ; and, still further, 
that it is better to love our friends, and 
sometimes to find them unworthy, than to 
trust none.” 

“ Then you would advise me to marry 
George ?” 

“ I should not dare to advise you to 
take such a step, Maggie. Your own heart 
must tell you whether you can be to him 
a true wife in its holiest sense. If you 
cannot, do not marry him. It would be 
a dreadful mockery of a solemn vow. I 
would have no concealments. If he has 


The Power of Faith. 93 

asked you to be his wife, tell him frankly 
just how you feel, and then you can judge 
him better than you can now.” 

“ You are right, darling mother. If I have 
been so unfortunate in my father, I have 
at least been doubly blessed in my mother.” 
And the impulsive girl ran and threw her 
arms around her mother’s neck and kissed 
her, and then went back to the wheel, 
which sent out its monotonous whirr, 
whirr all the long summer afternoon. 

Back and forth went the shuttles in the 
cloth. Mrs. McAllister was weaving, but 
the bright tints were in contrast with the 
sombre hue. her thoughts were taking. 
Day by day she was weaving a life-his- 
tory. Its warp was love to God, and its 
woof loving acts of service toward him 
and his creatures, patience and self-denial, 


94 


The McAllisters . 


and all gentle acts of Christian kindness; 
but the dread shadow which had envelop- 
ed her married life darkened all now, and 
she sadly thought, “If I could teach my 
children to honor their father.” Then the 
question arose, “ Can you honor him ? Is 
it love or stern duty that binds you to the 
shattered wreck ?” She did love the noble 
man to whom she gave her heart and hand 
in unquestioning trust in her happy girl- 
hood days. But what resemblance did 
he bear to this bloated, pimple-faced, blear- 
eyed man, to whom oaths and curses and 
ribald talk were as common as the air he 
breathed? And it was not sickness nor 
misfortune which had brought him low. 
That would have been so different. He 
had given himself to the demon of intem- 
perance, to be led captive by him at his 


The Power of Faith . 95 

will. He had sown the wind ; he was 
reaping the whirlwind. 

She had become so accustomed to the ef- 
fort to shield him even from the condemna- 
tion of her own thoughts that it did not occur 
to her now that he alone was responsible for 
the lack of love and reverence his children 
manifested. The bitter thought was, “ How 
miserably I fail in teaching them what is 
due to him as their father !” She nursed 
the pity and compassion that glowed in 
her heart for him, and called it wifely love 
and duty; but the illusion gave her heart 
rest ; and it is far better thus than to chafe 
against the bonds which endure “ till death 
do j^ou part.” 

Her reflections were again interrupted 
by Maggie, who stopped a moment from 
her busy tripping to and fro with, “ Moth- 


96 


The McAllisters . 


er, I may as well tell you now as ever. 
George is coming to-night, and I have 
promised to give him some kind of an 
answer. What that answer will be de- 
pends on himself. If I should decide to 
give up my liberty , what will you do 
without your Maggie? What will my 
father do? for I believe he cares a little 
for me. And when he is so bad, who will 
defend you from his violence? No, moth- 
er, I do not believe it would be right for 
me to leave you.” 

“ You must not feel so, child. You have 
been a dear, good girl, I know, and such a 
comfort. But you would grieve me more 
than words can tell if you should sacrifice 
your happiness for me now. I should feel 
far happier thinking of you in your own 
happy home,’ and going to visit you now 


The Power of Faith . 97 

and then, than to see you always here , and 
know that it was all for our sakes. Follow 
the dictates of your own heart, my dear 
child, in this matter, and you will make me 
happy.” 

There was no tremor in Maggie’s voice 
during this conversation. Except for the 
deepening color of her cheek, she might 
have been talking upon the most ordi- 
nary subject, instead of the one most 
closely affecting her future destiny. But 
the school in which the young girl had 
been reared was a hard one, and not at 
all favorable to sentiment or refined feel- 
ing. Still, thanks to a mother’s guiding 
hand, and the loving care of the Heavenly 
Father, Maggie McAllister had develop- 
ed a character noble and generous and 
self-sacrificing to the last degree, if it did 


98 


The McAllisters . 


lack the blushing timidity and maidenly 
reserve which are as dew to the fragrant 
flower. 

“ It is all settled, mother dear,” she said, 
the following morning, as she was again 
alone with her mother. “ ]> told him all 
my fears, and he did not blame me one 
bit. He said it was very natural I should 
feel as I do, suffering as I have done, but 
that he feared and hated liquor as much 
as I do. He said, ‘ Whiskey always con- 
quers if we dally with it at all, so my motto 
is and shall be, “ Touch not, taste not, han- 
dle not;”’ and, mother, he said that if I 
will be his wife, my father and mother 
shall be his, and shall never want while 
he has a crust. So, now I am quite sure 
that I love him, and am glad and happ3' 
to be his wife.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


DARE TO DO RIGHT. 


H ! dear, I do wish it was only 
as easy to do as to think,” 
muttered Jemmy McAllister 
to himself as he took his way across 
Captain Gordon’s broad fields to his 
work, one summer morning. “ I did 
mean to be good and true when I told 
mother she could trust me, but it’s 
enough to make a minister wicked to live 
here. They swear so that I can’t help 
think swear, if I don’t say it; and the Cap’n 
drinks so much cider that he’s as cross as 




IOO 


The McAllisters . 


a bear all the time. I wonder what moth- 
er’d say if she knew that he sent me to 
the store for whiskey. I told Mrs. Gor- 
don she would feel bad, and she said she 
felt bad herself, but she dar’n’t say a 
word. She would feel worse if she knew 
how often little Tom gets drunk, and Har- 
ry carries him into the house and says 
he’s sick. You couldn’t fool my mother 
so.” 

Intemperance had made its mark upon 
the proud Captain as ineffaceably as upon 
John McAllister, though he had not fallen 
quite so low. Mrs. Gordon, a meek, gentle 
woman, who had been a great beauty in 
her day, found herself entirely unable to 
cope with the strong will of her liege 
lord — so, when he forbade her to attend 
church, after a few fruitless struggles she 


Dare to do Right. 


IOI 


obeyed. He did not use violence, but 
taunted her with the basest motives. He 
used language to his pure, true-hearted 
wife which none but a cowardly and bru- 
tal nature would indulge, but he attained 
his object, and only in the silence of her 
closet did the poor woman dare to make 
known her requests unto God. She would 
gladly have confessed her Saviour before 
men, and enjoyed the communion and fel- 
lowship of his followers upon earth ; but 
her spirit was broken, and she was des- 
tined to live on, wearing out her life like a 
subdued slave to her imperious lord. 

The struggle told at length upon a deli- 
cate constitution, and consumption had 
already set his seal upon her. The beau- 
tiful eyes were lit up with fever or wan 
and lustreless, and the sunken cheeks were 


102 


The McAllisters . 


every day lit up with a color so brilliant, 
that her husband rallied her upon growing* 
young and beautiful again. He could not, 
or would not, see that death was slowly 
but surely doing its work. 

And to the weary mother, the heavenly 
home and the eternal rest, where no ty- 
rant will should control her, where “ love 
was law,” looked sweet and desirable ex- 
cept when the little children who called her 
mother drew the earth-cords around her. 
There was Frank, proud and wilful as her 
father, yet yielding obedience to her gen- 
tle mother because she loved her. There 
was often a clashing of the imperious wills 
even now. 

What would Frank do when the moth- 
er who could draw her by cords of love 
was gone? and Grace, who inherited her 


Dare to do Right. 103 

mother’s beauty and gentleness, what 
would become of her? Tom, for whom 
she trembled, she scarce knew why ; and 
Harry, and baby Will? How much they 
all needed a mother ! “ I will pray God 

to give them a good mother when I am 
gone,” was the conclusion of the matter, 
and then the troubled heart found rest. 

She was busied now calmly and quietly 
preparing garments for the little ones who 
would so soon be motherless, telling them 
when they were alone together of the 
happy home to which she was going, and 
of the loving Saviour in whom she trust- 
ed and who would care for them and bring 
them to her at the last, if only they would 
place their hands in his and be led by him. 

So the home of the rich man with the 
shadow of intemperance upon it, and the 


104 


The McAllisters . 


chill shadow of coming death, was far 
from being as happy as the log-house, 
which, but for the one black shadow, was 
always filled with sunshine. 

“ I will not deceive you, mother; I am 
not half so good as I expected to be ; but it 
is so hard to do right there,” said Jemmy on 
one of his visits home. “ Captain Gordon 
don’t work much unless he can find some- 
thing to do Sunday, and then he puts in 
as if he was gaining ever so much, and oh ! 
how he hates church people. If anybody 
speaks to him about his soul or getting 
religion, he says ‘all they care for is his 
money, and they’ll never catch him in a 
church.’ Oh ! he’s ugly, I tell you. He 
don’t get dead drunk like him , but he 
keeps drinking cider all the time.” 

“ I’m afraid, my boy, that you ought 


Dare to do Right. 105 

not to say these things about your em- 
ployer.” 

“ But they’re true, mother.” 

“ Maybe they are ; still it would be bet- 
ter not to tell such unpleasant truths unless 
some one can be benefited by it.” 

“ He’ll never benefit anybody, mother, 
one way or another. He’ll just do all the 
mischief he can till he dies, and that’ll put 
a stop to it.” 

“ O Jemmy !” 

“You haven’t lived with him, mother. 
If you had, you’d know him. Only the 
other day Frank told me that if she could 
go to church and Sabbath-school like 
other girls, she was sure she would be a 
better girl, but he will only let her go 
to balls and such places. I’ve been grow- 
ing bad ever since I went there.” 

o 


106 The McAllisters . 

“ ‘ My son, if sinners entice thee, consent 
thou not.’ The Bible, you see, has a rule 
for just such places. ” 

“Yes, mother; but I have consented, 
and if I keep on going down I shall be 
just as bad as he is by-and-by. I am sorry, 
but it is so.” 

“ And I too am sorry, very, very sorry ; 
but you are not going to keep on in 
that downward road, Jemmy?” 

“ I hope not. If I could only have you 
with me to speak to me once in a while !” 

“ You may have a better, stronger Friend, 
my dear boy. Hear what he says : ‘ Call 
upon me in the day of trouble, and I will 
answer thee.’ 1 In the day thou seekest me 
with all thy heart, I will be found of thee.’ 
‘ They that seek me early shall find me.’ 
‘ If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of 


Dare to do Right. 


107 


God, who giveth to all men liberally, and 
upbraideth not.’ ‘Ask, and ye shall re- 
ceive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it 
shall be opened unto you.’ Is not that 
enough, Jemmy?” 

“ But I do not find much time to pray, 
mother, and hardly ever a place. The 
boys would laugh at me if I knelt down 
to say my prayers at night.” 

“ Ah ! my dear, boy, there, then, is the 
secret of the going down. My dear, brave 
boy ashamed to do right? afraid to do his 
duty? ashamed of Jesus?” 

“ O mother ! I did not think about it in 
that light. I trusted myself too much. I 
am ashamed of myself.” 

“ And you will dare to do right , my boy, 
and be the true, brave boy I thought you ?” 

“ I will try, mother.” 


i 


io8 


The McAllisters . 


“ And Jesus will help you, Jemmy. When 
Peter found himself sinking, he cried ‘ Save, 
Lord, or I perish/ He did not wait to 
kneel down or to find a convenient place 
to pray. So you, wherever you may be, 
whatever you may be doing, lift your heart 
to God, and he will help you. He makes 
all the way so pleasant, no matter how 
many clouds are hanging over it. He is 
light, and there is no darkness where he 
is.” 

“ If I was only a Christian, mother, I 
could take all these promises ; but Cap- 
tain Gordon says that ‘ the prayer of the 
wicked is an abomination to God/ He 
says the Bible rqads so/’ 

“ He had better read again, for the 
Bible says no such thing. It says ‘ the 
sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination 


Dare to do Right. 


109 


to God,’ and you can see what that is 
any day. They would dethrone him, 
and destroy his holy religion if they 
could.” 

“ That is different, sure enough, and 
any one may pray if he is ever so 
wicked.” 

“ If we confess our sins, he is faithful 
and just to forgive us our sins, and 
to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 
When the thief upon the cross called to 
Jesus amid his dying agonies, he did not 
disregard his prayers ; so now, that he is 
upon his heavenly throne, he will listen 
to the humblest prayers ; and no matter 
how sinful and unworthy, we have been, 
he will hear and save us.” 

“ Then there is no excuse for me, mo- 
ther. I cannot pack my sins upon any- 


I IO 


The McAllisters. 


body else, and if I am wicked, I alone 
must bear it.” 

“ Nothing can be truer than that, my 
boy !” 

“ Jemmy, if you and I were real Chris- 
tians, I think it would be a great deal 
easier,” said Maggie, who had been an 
interested listener. “ We have been in- 
structed, and taught to pray, and all that 
mother could do for us she has done. 
But now, that we are grown up, and can 
think for ourselves and act for ourselves, 
we have got something to do for our- 
selves. We have both of us got temper 
enough — quite too much, may be. If I 
could only have Jesus right in my heart 
all the time to help me to think, and act, 
and do, I wouldn’t be afraid.” 

“O Maggie! what an idea! Jesus live 


Dare to do Right . 1 1 1 

in this old log-house, or at Captain 
Gordon’s !” 

“ This is better than ‘ the stable and 
the manger,’ Jemmy; and isn’t Mrs. Gor- 
don a lover of Jesus? And when he 
says, ‘ Lo ! I am with you always,’ does 
he forget her ?” 

“ Why no, of course he don’t ; and she 
is a blessed woman, if she does belong to 
Captain Gordon. He won’t keep her 
long, though. But this dwelling in our 
hearts — in your heart and mine, Maggie ! — 
and he so holy, and we so sinful. Why, 
I shouldn’t dare to speak for fear I 
should speak wrong, if I knew that he 
was dwelling in my heart.” 

“ Then, don’t you want Jesus in your 
heart, Jemmy?” 

“ 1 — I don’t know. I don’t want to be 


1 1 2 


The McAllisters . 


wicked , but I’m a great rough boy any- 
way, and I love to enjoy myself and 
have a good time. pious people 

are so long-faced and solemncholy, you 
know, and it always seemed to me that 
I should like just religion enough to keep 
me from being wicked, and not enough 
to keep me from enjoying myself, and let 
the rest be for the old people, and the 
sick people, and the women.” 

Maggie’s face wore a mingled expres- 
sion of vexation and amusement as she 
answered : 

“ In which of these classes do you 
place your mother, and good sister 
Kate, and our noble Charley ? Mother 
is certainly as good as anybody can be, 
and she isn’t long-faced and solemncholy, 
I’m sure. And Kate and Charley are 


Dare to do Right . 1 1 3 

neither sick nor old ; and, Jemmy, you 
must let me say that such a course as 
you spoke of looks cowardly. Choose 
the loving Saviour when everything else 
has failed us ! I won’t do so. He shall 
have the best of my life, and that is poor 
enough.” 

“You’re rather hard on a fellow, ain’t 
you, Mag ? But all you say is true, and 
I’m a great blunderhead anyway. I 
didn’t think of mother, and Charley, 
and Kate. They are jolly enough, but 
some pious people do look like vinegar, 
and you know it ; and somehow, I’ve got 
the notion that it’s too much religion 
that ails them.” 

“Jemmy, have you ever read in the 
Bible that * God is love,’ and ‘ Who- 
soever dwelleth in love, dwelleth in 


The McAllisters . 


114 

God, and God in him ’ ?” asked the mo- 
ther. 

“Yes, mother.” 

“'And that ‘Whatsoever things are 
pure, and lovely, and of good report ’ 
we are to observe, and that the fruits* 
of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, long- 
suffering, gentleness, meekness, patience ? 
Now, what is there in all this to make 
one glum and sorrowful? ‘The joy of 
the Lord is your strength,’ the Bible 
says, too. Joy and happiness give 
strength like the sunshine, and if any- 
body in the world is happy, and 
always happy, it is the Christian who 
•loves God with all his heart.” 

“They don’t all act as if they felt so, 
m other.” 

"“No; because, perhaps, some of them 


Dare to do Right . 


ii5 

get the idea that they want just religion 
enough ‘to keep from being very wicked ,’ etc., 
and they get just enough to make them 
miserable. They may be said to endure 
religion instead of enjoying it. Now, my 
boy, do you admire a lean, half-starved 
dyspeptic more than a healthy, robust, 
active man ?” 

“ Why no, mother.” 

“ Or a Christian who is so afraid that 
he shall live too near the Saviour that 
he don’t know where he is, more than 
an earnest, happy Bible Christian, about 
whom there is no question ?” 

“No, indeed! You hit me hard, mo- 
ther, but it is all right.” 

“ If there’s anybody I do despise, it’s 
your shillyshallying, milk-and-water Chris- 
tians,” said earnest Maggie. “ They are 


ii6 


The McAllisters . 


so afraid they shall say or do something 
to displease somebody, you never know 
where to find them, for they are nowhere 
in particular. Now, if anything is right, 
and we know it is, why not go in for it, 
and stick to it, and live as though we 
believed it ?” 

“That would be more sensible, truly.” 

“ Well, mother, I mean to be a real 
live Christian some time.” 

“ When, my boy ?” 

“ Oh ! I cannot say when the call 
comes for me. Maybe the next pro- 
tracted meeting.” 

“ How long are you going to live, 
Jemmy ?” 

“ What a question, mother ! I certainly 
cannot tell.” 

“ You certainly cannot, and you may 


Dare to do Right, 1 1 7 

die before the next protracted meeting. 
Christ says, ‘ To-day, if ye will hear my 
voice, harden not your hearts,’ and ‘ Now 
is the accepted time,’ and ‘ Now is the 
day of salvation.’ ” 

“ Whoever heard of any one starting 
all alone to be a Christian, mother — turn- 
ing square round, with everybody look- 
ing and wondering ?” 

“ It is noble, my boy, to dare to do 
right, because it is right, not because 
somebody else does. You know you are 
in a wrong course. Turn square about, 
and Christ will help you, and it is far 
better to please him, to have him for a 
friend, than all the world beside.” 

“And, Jemmy, I will be with you,” 
said Maggie. “ Together we will choose 
Christ for our guide, and he will never 


1 1 8 


The McAllisters . 


leave us, nor forsake us, nor suffer us to 
go astray, so long as we put our trust in 
him.” 

“ Many of the best Christians have com- 
menced in just this way,” said the mother. 
“ Instead of being moved by the entreaties 
of others, or by the fact that many were 
seeking the Saviour, they have acted upon 
their own convictions ; and the Saviour is 
ever true to his promises.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MAKING HOME HAPPY. 

ELL, Fanny, you are really 
quite a stranger ; but I’m 
very glad to see you, never- 
theless. How did you manage to get 
away from the loom for an afternoon?” 

“ Finished my work, of course, Arabella ; 
and, having a leisure hour, decided to come 
and spend it with you.” 

“ Very sensible of you. But come, take 
a seat in the bay-window, for my roses 
are all in full bloom, and my fuchsias 
and geraniums- — did you ever see finer? 
Here is a low rocker, without arms to 
hinder your knitting; for I see the ever- 




120 


The McAllisters. 


lasting needles sticking out of your pocket, 
and suppose you will be at it, as usual, 
the moment you get your bonnet off.” 

“No, I must take a good look at all 
your flowers first. How beautiful they 
are! You must be very happy, sister.” 

“I happy, Fanny? You don’t know 
what you are talking about, I guess. 
What have I to make me happy?” 

“ Do you expect me to answer, Ara- 
bella? Well, you have a beautiful home 
and plenty of money ; a kind husband 
and children, and good health ; and last, 
though not least, all these beautiful flowers 
to smile upon you every hour in the 
day.” 

“ Let me look over the list, sister. 
First, you say I have a beautiful home. 
True; but I am a slave to it. I can’t 


Making Home Happy . 


I 2 I 


get a girl to help me but she frets the 
life out of me, because she is so lazy 
or impudent; and I have to work like 
a slave to take care of my family and 
dairy, or depend on such miserable help. 
What good does money do me if it will 
not buy me what I want, and that is 
good help and rest? Then there are my 
children. I never did see such children. 
They’ll kill me yet, I believe. Only to 
think of the money we have spent on 
Annette to try and make a lady of her, 
and now she’s bound and determined 
she’ll marry Archie Crawford, who is as 
poor as poverty. She. will run away with 
him, if we won’t consent. Oh ! it is 
dreadful !” 

“ There is nothing against Archie but 
his poverty, is there, Arabella?” 


122 


The McAllisters . 


“ Why, no ; but that’s enough, I’m sure.” 

“ I do not consider poverty so great 
a crime as many do, sister; and if An- 
nette were my daughter, I should much 
rather she would marry Archie than Cap- 
tain Gordon’s son, or many another I 
could mention.’’ 

“ But the family — think of it /” 

“ She will only marry one of the family. 
I am sorry she will disappoint you, but 
it might be worse.” 

“ I don’t see well how. Then there’s 
my husband. He hasn’t the spirit of a 
mouse, and just leaves everything for me 
to manage; and I declare, sometimes I’m 
worn out entirely.” 

“ He must have great confidence in 
you, sister.” 

“ I wish he’d have confidence enough 


Making Home Happy . 123 

in himself to keep Sam from getting- 
drunk every time he goes to the vil- 
lage.” 

“ O Arabella ! you cannot surely mean 
it! Your dear boy doesn’t drink?” 

“Yes, I do mean it. He not only 
drinks, but has come home drunk time 
after time. It is terribly disgraceful; but 
if I say a word to him, he only abuses 
me, and says the bar-room is a great deal 
pleasanter than his home. I don’t mean 
to be cross, Fanny, but I cannot help 
scolding when everything goes on so.” 

“ O sister ! it is horrible ! All the 
rest is but trifling compared to this. It 
would be so much easier to lay a child 
in the grave if he died innocent and 
happy, than to have him live to grow 
up a drunkard.” 


124 


The McAllisters . 


“ If it had been your Jemmy, now, 
Fanny, it wouldn’t have seemed so strange; 
for I was always afraid your boys would 
get to be drunkards, seeing what they 
do every day.” 

“ I don’t think you could get one of 
my boys to touch a glass of liquor — 
not even beer or cider — any more than 
poison, Arabella.” 

“ Oh ! but that would be fanaticism, 
Fanny. My family have always drunk 
such harmless beverages as wine, beer, 
and cider; for I believe if you indulge 
them in such things at home, they will 
not be so apt to drink stronger beve- 
rages abroad.” 

“ I cannot see it in that light. I re- 
member that was the way poor John 
commenced the downward road ; and oh ! 


Making Home Happy . 125 

it is a fearful one to him and to us 
all !” 

“ Dear me, Fanny, there comes Aunt 
Parthenia with her big work-bag. I did 
hope we could have the afternoon all to 
ourselves.’' 

A venerable-looking spinster, with a 
long, sharp nose, and small, twinkling, 
black eyes, bearing on her arm a huge 
silk reticule ornamented with fantastic 
needlework, was, seen coming up the 
walk. People said Miss Parthenia’s nose 
was made on purpose to pry with, and 
the way she did worm herself into every- 
body’s business was astonishing. What 
she did not know was, to say the least, 
of small account. She kept a record of 
all the ages in the neighborhood except 
her own, which, somehow, never rose 


126 


The McAllisters . 


above thirty, while the wrinkles and 
gray hairs hinted at fifty. Her chief 
value was as a depository of family se- 
crets; not a depository either, for she 
always picked them up in unaccounta- 
ble ways, and, acquiring them in this 
way, felt herself at liberty to scatter 
them to her heart’s content. People 
called her a gossip, but still they would 
gossip with her and listen to her stories, 
and so she was encouraged to go on 
like an itinerant newsdealer. Looking 
from one side of the walk to the other, 
and sauntering slowly along, she was 
near the door now. Many and many a 
precious morsel of gossip had she ac- 
quired in this way by means of open 
doors and windows and loud, careless 
voices. But all was still, and her light 


Making Home Happy . 


127 


rap upon the door was answered by Mrs. 
Golden herself with : 

“ Miss Pixley, indeed. Very happy to 
see you. It is a long time since you 
have favored us with a visit.” 

“Wal, how de du? And, du tell, if 
here ain’t Mis McAllister! I’m in luck, 
it seems, for I didn’t know as you ever 
went away from hum.” 

“ How is your health, Miss Pixley ?” 
asked Mrs. McAllister. 

“ Oh ! misabul. I’m e’en a’most shattered 
to pieces, I’m so narvous . I’ve jest come 
from the village, you see, and seek a sight 
as I’ve seen is enough to skeer anybody 
to death.” 

“ Why, what is the matter, Miss Pix- 
ley ?” asked Mrs. Golden. “ Is anybody 
hurt, or killed, or anything?” 


128 


The McAllisters . 


“ I should think there wus,” said Par- 
thenia, settling herself back in her chaii 
so as to fully enjoy the story she had 
to communicate. “You remember old 
Newton. He was a desput drinker — wus 
than your man, Mis McAllister. He was 
on a spree yesterday, and arter he’d 
drunk all he could stand up under, he 
got his jug filled, and went in and lay 
down on the scaffold in the barn. He 
didn’t exactly know what he was about, 
I guess, for he lay right square down 
over an open trap-door, and he fell 
through, of course, and just smashed his 
face. It looked awful, I tell you ; but 
that wasn’t the wust. He consated there 
was snakes, and devils, and all sorts of 
varmints squirming around him, and he 
jest yelled, and screamed, and begged 


Making Home Happy . 129 

them to take them off ; and nobody 
could pacify him. His hair stood straight 
out, and great drops of sweat wus all 
over his face ; and oh ! how he did yell 
and tear around ! It was the awfulest 
sight I ever did see : and they kept 
pouring the whiskey down till he died. 
He had the delirium tremers, I believe 
they call it, and he’s jest dead.” And 
Miss Parthenia took out her huge snuff- 
box, and, tapping the lid with her lean, 
skinny finger, she took a large pinch to 
“ steady her narves.” 

Mrs. McAllister had laid down her 
knitting, for she felt sick and faint. 

“Would it end so with him?” she was 
asking herself. 

“ It is awful,” said Mrs. Golden ; 
too terrible to think of. What will 


The McAllisters . 


130 

become of the poor man’s wife and chil- 
dren ?” 

“ They’ll be enough sight better off 
without him, Mis Golden. He never 
airnt the vally of the salt he ate, be- 
sides the whiskey he drunk; and many’s 
the time he stole things out of the house 
to pay for that. Now the poor old 
woman will have one mouth less to feed, 
and I presume to say she’s glad he’s 
gone. What do you think, Mis McAl- 
lister?” 

“ I think she will mourn for her hus- 
band a thousand times more than if he 
had died a good, respectable man ; and 
I think, too, that the man who let him 
have the whiskey is his murderer 

“Wal, that’s purty plain talk, I must 
say, to call as nice a man as Mr. 


Making Home Happy. 13 1 

Scribner, and well off, too, sech a name. 
He paid for his license, and has a right 
to sell whiskey. He did turn pale, though, 
when Newton grabbed hold on him and 
told him that the devils had got him, 
and begged him to take them off.” 

“ I don’t wonder at it, Miss Pixley.” 

“ If folks don’t want the tremers, they 
must let the whiskey alone; that’s all I’ve 
got to say. But I guess I’d better be 
agoin’.” 

“Don’t be in a hurry, Miss Pixley,” said 
Mrs. Golden ; but Miss Parthenia had two 
or three calls she must make that after- 
noon. With such a piece of news to ped- 
dle, she could not remain long in a place, 
so, taking another huge pinch of snuff, she 
said, “ Good afternoon, ladies,” and went 
down the street to tell it to new listeners. 


132 


The McAllisters. 


“ She makes me think of an old crow,” 
said Mrs. Golden, drawing a deep sigh of 
relief as the lean, gaunt figure disappeared 
down the street. “ I am so glad she has 
gone.” 

“ Some people carry sunshine with them 
wherever they go,” said Mrs. McAllister, 
“ while others are like an east wind. I sup- 
pose it is all true that she has told us, 
though, and how horrible it is!” 

“Yes, indeed; and, Fanny, I have won- 
dered, again and again, how you could be 
so calm and cheerful always with John as 
he is. I sometimes think you take more 
comfort than I do, after all.” 

“You think, ‘ Blessed be nothing!’ per- 
haps ; but, Arabella, if I did not try to make 
my home happy and pleasant, what would 
become of my children?” 


Making Home Happy . 133 

“ But how can you be happy, Fanny ? If 
I had a drunken husband, it would fret me 
to death.” 

“ You never can know anything about it, 
Arabella. We can never know until we 
are tried how much we can endure. I set 
ihyself to the task, when I found that all 
hope of happiness with him was gone, to 
try and save my children, and this has been 
the one purpose of my life. I have tried 
to make home the happiest place on earth 
for them, always looking for help where 
alone it can be found. I have been very 
happy in my work, though there have been 
sharp trials sometimes ; and I believe I shall 
see what I have so much desired.” 

“ I would give all the world for your 
disposition, Fanny. After all, it isn’t so 
much what we have as what we are.” 


134 


The McAllisters . 


Trouble had brought the haughty spirit of 
Mrs. Golden down from the serene self- 
consciousness she once enjoyed, and the 
quiet yet powerful influence of her sister’s 
loving spirit was felt even beyond the pre- 
cincts of the old log-house. 

“ Home is the dearest spot on earth, 
humble though it may be,” thought Mrs. 
McAllister, as she drew near it the evening 
after her visit. The rude walls were cov- 
ered with vines, and gay flowers bloomed 
under the windows, a large tree spread its 
sheltering branches near the door, and the 
noisy, babbling brook beside it made pleas- 
ant music to those who were accustomed 
to its songs. John and Nelly were sitting 
beneath the tree, but rose quickly and ran 
to meet their mother as they saw her ap- 
proaching, and Maggie, with her rosy dim- 


Making Home Happy . 135 

pled face and short brown curls, sat knit- 
ting in the open door, as demurely as 
though the weight of years was resting on 
her young head. The last rays of the set- 
ting sun lighted up the pleasant home- 
picture, and there was but one thing want- 
ing (so the mother thought) to complete its 
beauty. 


CHAPTER IX. 


SHADOW AND SUNSHINE. 

E AN WHILE, the shadow grew 
deeper and deeper over the home 
of Captain Gordon. Jemmy no- 
ticed that the mother’s cheek grew paler 
and her step weaker from day to day, but 
her eye was unnaturally bright and her 
cheeks rosy red every afternoon. It an- 
gered Captain Gordon when anything was 
said concerning his wife’s failing health. 
Was she not his wife ? — and his possessions 
were not to be lightly relinquished. She had 
always obeyed him because she must, and 
now he had bidden her to make haste and 
get well. So the subject was tabooed, and 



Shadow and Sunshine. 137 

the exactions of the little ones were as 
importunate as ever, and as long as she was 
able she yielded to them. “ Poor lambs ! 
they will soon be motherless/’ she said ; “ I 
will please them while I can.” But there 
came an hour when an unbidden guest 
came to Captain Gordon’s home. The 
children stood weeping round, for the lov- 
ed mother lay white and gasping on the 
bed from which she was never more to 
rise. Captain Gordon stood near, all his 
pride and sternness melted now. One by 
one the dying mother kissed the children a 
last good-by, and now she threw her arms 
around her husband’s neck and cried, “ O 
husband, husband ! give your heart to Jesus, 
and meet me in heaven!” As that last 
pleading cry went forth from the pale lips, 
an unseen but deathless spirit took its flight 


138 


The McAllisters . 


to the paradise of God, and never more 
did the calls of mercy fall upon those dead- 
ened ears, calloused by the oft-repeated 
and oft-rejected offers of mercy. And does 
Jemmy forget the promise he made his 
own dear mother, as he sees the children of 
the rich Captain left poorer than himself, 
because motherless? Every night he has 
knelt by his bed and prayed , because he 
would not be a coward, because he had 
promised his mother that he would do so. 
And now he was not alone, Little Harry 
knelt with him, and he had taught him a 
little prayer, the first he learned from his 
mother’s lips. Jemmy did not merely say 
his prayers now. He prayed. He asked a 
real Father for what he wanted, and receiv- 
ed real answers, and the way was no longer 
dark and troubled. He had just as much 


Shadow and Sunshine . 


139 


to endure as ever, but some One who was 
infinitely wiser, and kinder, and stronger 
than himself helped him. “ If I never had 
had such a mother, who knows but I might 
have gone on hardening my heart till it was 
as hard as the poor old Captain’s ? It was 
getting pretty hard, and it ain’t safe, I know 
it ain’t.” 

Such were Jemmy’s thoughts as he look- 
ed upon the iron-faced man looking his last 
upon the sweet-faced wife of his youth. 
The little children wept and wondered. A 
minister came to the house ; they had 
never seen one there before, and he prayed 
to some One they could not see and then 
the dear sleeping mother, who would never 
smile nor wake, though they kissed her and 
called her name so loud, was carried away 
and laid in a narrow deep grave, and hid- 


140 


The McAllisters. 


den from their sight. It was all so terrible 
they could never forget it. And there are 
other things sad and terrible enough — 
homes in this Christian land where the 
Word of Life is never spoken till it is called 
in by the presence of death. There are 
little children, of whom the blessed Saviour 
said, “ Suffer them to come unto me, for of 
such is the kingdom of heaven/’ who never 
heard the invitation, who know nothing of 
the beautiful land which the Saviour has 
gone to prepare for those who love him. 
Ah ! fearful will be the retribution when 
those to whom these priceless gems are 
given prove faithless to the sacred trust. 
And the failure on the part of one parent is 
only the necessity for double care and vig- 
ilance on the part of the other. So thought 
Mrs. McAllister. “ I must do our work 


Shadow and Sunshine . 


141 

alone,” she said ; “ and oh ! how sad that, in- 
stead of ‘looking to their father for a noble 
example, my children must be taught to 
shun it as they do the way of death.” 

There was great satisfaction in the 
thought that two of her boys had been 
brought safely through the shoals and 
quicksands which lie in the path of boy- 
hood, and that her beloved daughters were 
intelligent, pure-minded, and self-respecting, 
as if they had known nothing of the trials 
and hardships of their peculiar lot. A new 
spirit seemed to actuate Maggie now. She 
was as firm as ever ; as earnest in her abhor- 
rence of the horrible traffic which had 
ruined her father and desolated her home ; 
but a new gentleness possessed her ; a happy 
light shone from the clear gray eyes which 
used to flash forth defiant glances sometimes. 


142 


The McAllisters . 


She now from her heart could call God 
Father , and oh ! the peace and rest which 
filled her heart at the thought of a Father so 
great, so strong, and so wise, and withal so 
tender and compassionate. She loved her 
brothers fondly ; and what infinite conde- 
scension it was that she could call the 
Divine Saviour her Elder Brother ! No one 
who has not known the sweetness of that' 
sacred tie can realize how much is implied 
in that title, “ Our Elder Brother.’’ She 
seemed to have fewer vexations arid trials 
than formerly. 

Indeed, though the poor, lost father 
showed no signs of reformation, he grew 
no worse, and she had borne as much as 
she had to bear now all alone. How differ- 
ent now with the strong, loving arms about 
her ! Time flew swiftly by, and the time 


Shadow and Sunshine. 143 

drew near when Charley should bring his 
fair young bride to his humble childhood’s 
'home. 

“ I don’t know what we can do to make 
the old house look any better,” said Mag- 
gie, as she glanced over the room. The 
floor was as white as hands could make it. 
A snowy cloth covered the table, and a pit- 
cher filled with wild-flowers stood in the 
centre and filled the air with fragrance. 

Over the small square looking-glass hung 
bunches of asparagus filled with scarlet 
berries, and wreaths of running vine were 
trained over the windows and around the 
picture-frames. “ It looks pleasant to us 
because it is home, I suppose/’ she contin- 
ued, “ but how will it seem to Charley’s 
wife?” 

“Don’t worry one bit about Charley’s 


144 


The McAllisters. 


wife, my dear,” said Mrs. McAllister, smil- 
ing ; “ she knows all about us, and will think 
none the less of Charley’s friends because 
they are poor.” 

When, a few days later, she folded the 
sweet young bride to her motherly heart, 
and felt her warm kisses upon her cheek, 
she knew she had not been mistaken in her 
estimate of the warm-hearted young girl. 
This was Charley’s mother, to whom he 
owed so much — -all, indeed. She had learned 
to love the saintly woman long before ; for 
had not Charley told her all she had done 
and suffered for her children’s sake ? And 
the brave, true-hearted Maggie, and all the 
brothers and sisters of Charley — not much 
fear of criticism from her who had loved them 
all for his sake as well as their own. The 
old log-house came in for its share of friend- 


Shadow and Sunshine . . 145 

1 y regard — “ for there is such a happy home 
feeling here,” she said. The father was 
quiet and sober, and altogether the visit of 
Charley’s wife was a rare pleasure, instead 
of the ordeal they had feared. And what 
of her — the fair young creature whose deli- 
cate beauty lit up the old house like a 
rare exotic? The children soon lost the 
shyness with which they regarded her, and 
began to indulge in a feeling of appropria- 
tion of their beautiful sister ; yet Nellie said 
shyly to her married brother, “ She looks 
too pretty to be really ours , and I keep 
thinking she’ll fade away right before our 
eyes. She looks just like an angel, Char- 
ley.” 

Something in the child’s artless talk 
struck painfully upon the young man’s 
heart, and he turned to look upon his beau- 


146 


The McAllisters . 


tiful bride, as he answered, “ Do you often 
see the angels, Nellie, and do they always 
fade away right before your eyes ?” 

“ Oh ! no, Charley, but all beautiful things 
do, you know.” 

“ No, not all, little sister. Look at our 
mother. Is she not beautiful? Yet she 
does not vanish away like' a cloud, or an 
angel, as you would say.” Still his brow 
clouded slightly as he noticed the pure 
transparency of his wife’s complexion and 
the deep hectic glow upon her fair round 
cheek. 

“ It is nothing,” he said to himself. “ Why 
should a child’s prattle disturb me so ?” 
Then he turned to Kate and commenced 
rallying her upon her approaching mar- 
riage, as if wishing to drive away the un- 
welcome thoughts which intruded them- 


Shadow and Sunshine . 147 

selves. “ I suppose we may come and see 
you, sis, when you get nicely settled upon 
the farm, or must we wait for a formal in- 
vitation from Mr. Merton ?” 

“ Oh ! fie, Charley, how can you be so 
thoughtless?” answered Kate, blushing 
deeply, and glancing in the direction of 
her younger brothers and sisters. 

/ “ Do be careful, Charley, how you speak 
before the little pitchers,” said Nelly, 
laughing merrily. “To be sure, we don’t 
know anything. Mr. Merton probably 
comes here on business, or to see father, 
and Mr. George, too. Oh ! it’s ever so nice 
to have pretty grown-up sisters, and I 
think Henry and Mr. George will make 
very nice brothers indeed.” 

“ Maybe you won’t think it’s quite so 
nice when Kate and Maggie go away for 


148 


The McAllisters . 


good,” spoke up little Johnny. “Nobody 
here but you and I to help mother. Oh ! 
but you’ll have to do some things that ain't 
quite so pretty when Maggie is gone.” 
Here was a new view of the case, and the 
little girl’s face sobered instantly. 

“ It isn’t worth while to borrow trouble, 
children,” said Maggie. “ We are all here 
yet, and your rabbits must need feeding by 
this time, don’t they ?” 

“ Yes, they are always hungry,” said Nel- 
ly, as the children went hand-in-hand to the 
garden to pick leaves for the rabbits. 

They were two speckled beauties which 
good brother Jemmy had brought them. 
The kind boy had built a hutch for them, 
and the children were never tired of feeding 
and petting them. The children were 
pretty sober now, for the thought of the 


Shadow and Sunshine . 


149 


broken home had but just intruded itself, 
and was by no means pleasant. 

“ What do people want to get married 
for, anyhow ?” said Nelly pettishly. 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure,” answered 
Johnny gravely. 

“ Most everybody does, though. Don’t 
you mean to, when you get big enough ? 
or do you mean to live here always ?” 

“ What, in this log-house ? Of course, I 
shall have a large, beautiful house, all my 
own, but I shouldn’t want to marry for 
it, though.” 

“ Well, sis, when I get to be a man, I 
will learn a trade, and get married, and 
build me a large, nice house, and you 
shall come and live with me if you want 
to. And I will have a nice room in* 
it for mother and — and father, too, I 


The McAllisters . 


150 

s’pose, for may be he’ll stop drinking 
then.” 

“And may be he never will, John. 
He always did have spells ever since I 
can remember. If he only would let the 
whiskey alone, how nice it would be ? I 
should be willing to live right here al- 
ways ; for he would love me and take 
care of me as Mary Barnes’ father does. 
Why, Johnny, he kisses her, and holds 
her on his knee, and plays with her ; 
;and, oh ! you ought to see the beautiful 
• dresses and things he gives her ; and 
.•she is so proud of him, and I — oh ! 
Johnny, it is dreadful to be always 
.ashamed of your own father !" And the 
ipoor child broke down into a fit of sob- 
thing and crying which was pitiful to see. 

“ O sister ! don’t cry • so ; don’t. I 


Shadow and Sunshine . 


x 5 l 

know all about it, don’t I ? Don’t the 
boys, every time they get mad at me, 
twit me about him ? And I never can 
have a father to teach me as other boys 
do, and to give me knives and skates 
and things. But you know we’ve got 
a mother, Nelly ! so we’re not near 
so bad off as some children, after all. I 
wouldn’t swap my mother off for any other 
mother in the world ; would you, now ?” 

“ Oh ! no, indeed, I wouldn’t,” cried 
Nelly, trying to look cheerful again. 
“ I’m a real little goose, I know, but 
I’ve been trying this ever so long to 
keep from crying, and I couldn’t, at last, 
and may be it will do me good. First, 
I got to worrying about Mary. She is 
so beautiful and good ; but she is going 
to die. I know.” 


152 


The McAllisters . 


“ Why, Nelly !” 

“Well, I believe she is; and then I 
tried to laugh at Nelly and Kate to 
keep the tears back, and I was glad 
enough to get away here. I always 
want to cry when I think about father ; 
so that’s all there is about it, and I 
sha’n’t cry any more.” 

“ There is Maggie at the door looking 
for us. Mother is worrying about us, 
we are gone so long. We are not the 
worst off of anybody yet, sister.” 

“ No, indeed, of course we are 
not. Think of the poor Gordon chil- 
dren.” 

There seemed no shadow over the 
happy group which gathered around the 
tea-table in that humble cottage-home, 
and the fair young bride carried away 


Shadow and Sunshine . 


153 


in her heart only pleasant memories of 
her first visit to Charley’s home. 

“ The house is full of sunshine, if it is 
small and poor,” she said to her husband, 
on her return to their home ; “ and they 
are all so kind and loving. I shall love 
them all, not for your sake only, but for 
their own.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 

INCE the death of the wife and 
mother, all had gone wrong in 
the home of Captain Gordon. 
The little children sadly showed the 
want of a mother’s care, and unfaithful 
servants carelessly squandered what the 
frugal wife had labored so long to save. 
Amid all the waste and confusion which 
the proud man could neither control nor 
prevent, he drank to try and forget his 
sorrows, but only succeeded in making 
himself more cross and disagreeable, and 
consequently more unhappy than ever. 
There was not much sunshine in Captain 



The Gordon Family . 155 

Gordon’s home. The children, alter- 
nately coaxed, and threatened, and 
abused, grew headstrong and wilful 
, ^ost as the father himself, and there 
was a sad clashing of wills sometimes, 
which reminded one of a pandemonium 
rather than of “ home, sweet home.” 

But a brighter day was dawning for 
them. 

“ My children will have a good mo- 
ther,” Mrs. Gordon had said just before 
she passed away, and the angel-watchers 
which guard little children rejoiced when 
the spirit of evil which reigned in that 
unhappy home was rebuked by the pre- 
sence of a loving Christian woman — the 
new mother of whom the dying woman 
had spoken. 

It is a significant fact that, however a 


The McAllisters . 


156 

man may despise and deride religion, and 
that single-hearted purity and devotion 
which are the crowning glory of a 
woman, he yet chooses just such a one 
for a wife, for the mother of his chil- 
dren. This is true almost without excep- 
tion. And if amid such unfavorable sur- 
roundings the disciple of Jesus walk 
closely in his footsteps , hers is indeed a 
holy mission. She may fill heaven with 
joy ; she may cause angels to rejoice 
over souls won by her efforts from the 
ways of sin and death, to the narrow 
way which leads to life eternal. Oh ! if 
mothers could all rightly estimate their 
high and holy work — if into the young 
and tender minds which open to them 
as the flower to the sunlight, they would 
always drop lessons of truth and virtue, 


The Gordon Family . 157 

how many young lives would bear fruit 
unto holiness ! 

Mrs. Gordon tried to do her duty 
faithfully and well, but the habits of 
the older children had become so firmly 
fixed that she could do little for them 
only by way of temporary restraint. 
Poor Tom was a confirmed tippler. 
The whiskey-bottle in the hay-field, 
the cider-barrel in the cellar, the 
everyday example before him, had 
their effect, and tears, expostulations, 
and prayers were as water spilt upon 
the ground. He had a fine mind, and 
a noble and generous disposition, and 
sometimes, as he grew to manhood, he 
would make spasmodic efforts at re- 
form, but he invariably went back to 
the filthy habit again. He lived a 


158 


The McAllisters . 


wretched life — a curse to himself and 
all around him — and died a hopeless 
death, a victim to false education. 

Captain Gordon was often heard to 
wonder that Tom “ would make such a 
fool of himself.” 

In that great day when inquisition 
shall be made for blood, where shall the 
curse fall ? 

As the years rolled by, Mrs. Gordon 
found that it was no idle task which she 
had undertaken. The proud, imperious 
will which Frank had inherited from her 
father grew stronger with her growth, 
and the mother was unable to con- 
trol it. 

Captain Gordon decided that the girl’s 
will must be broken, and when her asso- 
ciations did not please him he command- 


The Gordon Family. 159 

ed her to break them up harshly and 
peremptorily. Really he believed that 
he had her best interest at heart, but 
his way of manifesting it was so offensive 
that the hot, rebellious blood of the Gor- 
dons rose in defiant opposition to his 
commands. “ I will be rid of this tyr- 
anny in some way,” she muttered. 

Frank had one suitor who was espe- 
cially offensive to her father, and he for- 
bade him the house, and ordered his 
daughter never to speak to him. She 
disobeyed, and met him clandestinely. 
Then, instead of trying the power of 
persuasion, he reprimanded her harshly, 
and locked her in her room, where she 
was kept prisoner, and a spy set upon 
her actions for several weeks. The 
girl was not a stranger to dissimulation, 


i6o 


The McAllisters . 


and her will was fairly roused now. She 
professed to have quite forgotten her 
sudden fancy, but, as the months rolled 
by and suspicion was entirely allayed, 
she disappeared one morning, hnd the 
next news her indignant father heard 
was that “ she had married the man of 
her choice, and was very happy.” 

Poor, infatuated girl ! In trying to cir- 
cumvent her father, she brought upon 
Herself a life-long misery and regret. At 
the last, when she stood by her father’s 
dying bed and asked him to forgive her 
disobedience and folly, she felt more 
peace of mind than in all those years of 
thoughtless pleasure. But we will gladly 
turn from these sad life histories to a 
brighter side of the picture. Gentle, 
thoughtful Grace, and Harry and Willie, 


The Gordon Family. 161 

the younger brothers, more than re- 
paid the mother’s watchful care. It 
is very strange, yet nevertheless true, 
that after the painful experience with 
his elder children, Captain Gordon’s 
hatred of religion was as violent as ever. 
He despised the only remedy for all his 
troubles; he hated the only Physician 
who could bring health and soundness to 
his almost broken spirit. And poor little 
Harry, who had learned to pray and 
love the Saviour, was forced to hear the 
name he loved blasphemed, and the reli- 
gion of the cross scoffed at and derided 
even before he had become established 
in the ways of righteousness. But the 
child was earnestly desirous to know the 
right way ; and such are safe, for unseen 
hands guide them, unseen arms lift them 


162 


The McAllisters . 


up when they are like to stumble and 
fall. Those who trust in Jesus need not 
fear, for, “ though they fall, yet shall they 
rise again.” There are many weak, 
trembling, faltering footsteps pointing 
heavenward besides those whose early 
years have been filled up with lessons of 
truth and love, and who therefore walk 
less deviously. Grace Gordon grew up a 
comfort and a blessing to her family 
and to her own home. She married one 
whom she could love and honor with the 
full approval, of her friends, but she did 
not learn of that “ love above all others” 
until she had been a wife several years. 
The world failed to satisfy the deathless 
cravings of her soul. Although she acknow- 
ledged to herself that she had all she need- 
ed of its good things, though she was an 


The Gordon Family. .163 

honored wife and happy mother, she was 
still restless and unsatisfied. When she 
came to know Christ, the world’s Re- 
deemer, as her Saviour , her heart was 
filled with such love to him and to the 
world for which he died that she said, 
“ Why don't everybody love the Saviour? 
How can they help seeing how blessed 
it is to have such a friend ? I must see 
my poor father. I know I can make him 
believe it.” But she returned chilled and 
wounded and discouraged, saying only, 
“ My poor, poor father. It is a pitiful sight 
— a doomed soul living in the beautiful 
world which God has made, living in his 
air and sunshine, and partaking of his 
bounty every moment, and more unmind- 
ful of him than the beasts which perish. 
To every such soul there has come at 


164 


The McAllisters . 


some time in their life history, many 
times, it may be, a still, small voice say- 
ing, “ This is the way, walk ye in it 
a gentle, loving voice whispering, “ Come 
unto me, and be saved but he has 
drowned the voice of the Heavenly Spirit 
in floods of worldliness, and turned away 
from him till he conies no more. The calls 
of mercy fall unheeded now. They are 
not for him. A soul in ruin , yet as comely 
and fair-proportioned, perhaps, to all save 
the All-seeing Eye, or even those temples 
of the Holy Ghost which shall shine for 
ever in the kingdom of our Father. “ I 
know now what it was that kept my 
sainted mother happy and peaceful amid 
all her trials,” said Grace; “but, if we 
could have been taught about this before, 
we would not have had to mourn for poor 


The Gordon Family, 165 

Tom and Kate. If we are taught to 
obey God, it is so much easier to obey our 
parents." 

“Yes, yes,” answered her husband. 
“ Children see further than we think 
they do, and they are a great deal more 
apt to do as we do than as we say. The 
best way is, according to my way of 
thinking, to be about what we want our 
children to be. It is a great deal better 
than preaching.” 

“ I would be willing, yes, glad, to 
spend my whole life praying for poor 
father, if I could have the faith that he 
would some time turn to Christ; but my 
heart sinks like lead when I think of 
him.” 

“ Why, Grace, I thought you had such 
boundless faith that God is both willing 


The McAllisters . 


1 66 

and able to give you all you need ! Can 
he not give you your father?” 

“ I do believe that he * will supply all 
our need’ so far as he can.” 

“ Can ! Why, Grace, I am surprised at 
you. Cannot God do all things ?” 

“No, my dear; I think not. He can- 
not lie. He cannot deny himself. He 
has given us power to choose. He will 
not violate our free will. How, then, can 
prayer be answered ?” 

“ We know how it is answered. How 
often we hear the inner voice pleading 
in our hearts, but we know — we are con- 
scious — that we have the power to refuse 
obedience. I believe in answer to prayer 
the Holy Spirit strives with our friends, 
and then comes the dreadful power to 
reject the Spirit and choose eternal death, 


The Gordon Family . 167 

and how many avail themselves of the 
choice ! All I can do is to put my trust 
in God and keep praying.” 

This has been the refuge of many a bur- 
dened heart. The sense of absolute de- 
pendence upon one who is strong to de- 
liver and mighty to save is very sweet to 
those who have been trusting to broken 
reeds of worldly pleasure and advantage. 

Earth has no rest so entire, no peace 
so deep and abiding, as the most suffering 
and storm-tossed Christian may find in 
Christ, the divine Redeemer. 


CHAPTER XI. 


A mother’s influence. 


HILE we have been following 

the fortunes of the Gordons, 
the swift-rolling years have 

wrought many changes with the McAl- 
listers, and, as a faithful chronicler, we 
must retrace our steps. There is no 

change in the old log-house since first 
we looked upon it. It might have been 
yesterday, for all the difference we see 
in its outward appearance, yet years 
have passed away since then. We miss 
many bright, cheerful faces, too, for three 
happy homes have branched from the 

parent hive, and only Nelly# of all the 



A Mothers Influence. 169 

group of children, is left at home. The 
loom still holds its place of honor, and 
no one of all the children thinks of de- 
spising it, for it is associated in their 
childish memories with the dear form 
which still sits before it, though the stern 
necessity which once demanded it has 
passed away. A little bent, perhaps, 
that figure is now ; and the face may be 
a shade paler and more careworn, but 
the calm, cheerful expression is there 
still. Christ dwelling in the heart is a 
thousand times more precious than the 
fabled “elixir of youth.” The blessed 
assurance, “ Lo, I am with you always,” 
is better than troops of friends, or all the 
world can offer. Mr. McAllister sits 
dozing by the fireside in his usual seat. 
A glance at his stolid face will tell us 


170 


The McAllisters . 


there has been no reform there, no wak- 
ing up of the better nature so long stupe- 
fied by drink. And pretty Nelly, who 
loved all beautiful things, we must not 
pass her by. She is a fair young maiden, 
with large dark eyes, and long silken 
lashes, and the same glossy curls which 
were Maggie’s pride so long ago. She 
has not conquered her early love for 
beauty, and now, after all the homely 
tasks are done, she is indulging her 
ruling passion. In her hands she is hold- 
ing a pure white lily, which she is look- 
ing at very intently, and before her the 
sheets of snowy wax and petals, partly 
moulded, tell of her occupation. Yet 
there is a far-away look in her eyes, as 
if her heart is not entirely in her work, 
much as she loves it. 


A Mothers Influence . 171 

“ I was thinking-, mother,” she said at 
last, “about Mary, and the time she 
was here first. How lovely she was, 
and how sad I felt every time I looked 
at her! I felt so sure she was not long 
for this world ; and you remember that 
she only lived a little more than a year. 
How strange it was about her and Emma! 
How they loved each other! Jt seemed 
hard that Mary must die when everybody 
loved her so ! And poor Charley, how his 
heart was bound up in her ! But I never 
quite understood how he came to marry 
Emma.” 

“ It was a singular story, quite a ro- 
mance some would call it, Nelly ; but 
we all love Emma very much, I am 
sure.” 

“ Oh ! yes, certainly we do, mother ; 


172 


The McAllisters . 


but, when one has loved once as Charley 
loved his wife, how could he marry 
again ? That’s the mystery of it to me.” 

“ Why, Nelly, it was Mary’s request. 
She joined their hands herself on her 
dying bed, and asked her friend to fill 
her place in her husband’s home and 
heart when she had gone to her heavenly 
home.” 

“ Oh ! how strange, and how dread- 
ful death must have seemed to her, 
so young and beautiful as she was. I 
don’t see how even the thought of her 
home in heaven could have made her 
willing to leave all she loved and all 
who loved her here.” 

“ It seems dark to us, but there are 
many things in this world that we can- 
not understand. Mary loved the Saviour, 


A Mothers Influence . 173 

and trusted him absolutely . This did not 
make her love her earthly friends less, 
but, when the Saviour called her to him, 
she was ready to obey. She must go 
a little before her loved ones, and she 
would be awaiting till they came. She 
did not wish them to mourn and weep 
for her, but to be happy, and to remem- 
ber her as happy too. There was nothing 
gloomy or terrible when Mary went 
away, and it seems to me the most natu- 
ral thing in the world that Charley 
should do just as he has done. Mary’s 
name is spoken as fondly in her old 
home as if she were still there.” 

“Yes, mother, you are right, I am 
sure ; and I am very foolish and romantic, 
of course ; but perhaps selfish would be 
the better word.” 


174 


The McAllisters . 


“ It is a great thing, my child, to be 
entirely free from selfishness.” 

“ I don’t know but one person in the 
world who is like that, mother, and that 
is your own dear self. You have lived 
for others always, till you don’t seem to 
think of self at all.” 

“ What an idea, child ! Perhaps, now, 
it was selfishness, after all. Are we not 
happier in seeing the happiness and pros- 
perity of those we love than in any other 
way ?” 

“You are, I presume, mother; but I 
don’t call that selfishness. It isn’t my 
kind, anyway.” 

“Well, Nelly dear, we will not trouble 
ourselves about names, only we will try 
always to be right. I have just heard 
from John, as you will be glad to know.” 


A Mothers Influence . 


175 


‘‘What’s that, old woman?” questioned 
Mr. McAllister, rousing from the dozing 
fit in which he spent so much of his 
time, now at the mention of his name. 

“ I was only speaking to Nelly,” said 
his wife. 

“ But you was talking about me.” 

“ No, father ; mother was speaking of 
brother Johnny.” 

“ And where is the brat? I’d e’enamost 
forgot we had sech a boy.” 

“ Why, father, don’t you remember ? 
He has been nearly three years with 
Mr. Benson. He comes home often 
enough, I am sure, that you needn’t 
forget him.” 

“ And a noble, good boy he is, too,” 
said the mother. “ When he has finished 
learning his trade, Mr. Benson will take 


ij6 


The McAllisters . 


him into business with him ; and I feel 
entirely safe about him now.’' 

Mr. McAllister had fallen asleep again, 
and Nelly answered : 

“Johnny is a noble fellow, to be sure, 
mother. He used to tell such brave 
stories about earning money enough to 
build a nice house of his own, and that 
I should come and live with him ; and 
you, dear mother — he always remem- 
bered you — you should have a pleasant 
room where you could rest and enjoy 
yourself, and never have to work any 
more.” 

“ Dear boy, it’s just like him ; but 
father and I will stay together in the 
old home. The children do not mean 
that we shall want for anything, and it 
will be a great deal better, 1 know. 


A Mothers Influence . 177 

George and Maggie are determined we 
shall go with them, and Charley, and 
Kate, and Jemmy. Never mother was 
blessed with better or kinder children.” 

“ And never children were blessed with 
a better mother,” said Nelly playfully; 
“ only she is just a little wilful, and likes 
to work more than they like to have 
her.” 

“ I shouldn’t be happy if I couldn’t 
work, I’m afraid, I am so used to it; 
and I have plenty of time to read my 
Bible. I don’t care to read a great deal 
besides.” 

“You have read that so many times, 
mother, I wonder sometimes if you never 
get tired of it.” 

“ I should sooner think of getting tired 
of my daily bread, Nelly. There is no- 


i 7 8 


The McAllisters . 


thing so new and fresh in the wide world 
as the Bible, if it was given us thousands 
of years ago.” 

“ There is the great wonder and mys- 
tery of it, mother. I believe you love 
the Bible to-day just as well as the mar- 
tyrs did hundreds of years ago — just as 
well as you did when you first learned 
to read it. Why, I should think it would 
get old-fashioned and tiresome, as every- 
thing else does when it grows old.” 

“ Fathers and mothers, for example, 
Nelly.” 

“No, no; you know I did not mean 
that, darling mother.” 

“ I don’t believe you did, child ; at 
any rate, I do not think I shall ever 
fret or grieve about being a burden to 
viy children , if I am ever so old-fashioned ; 


A Mother's Infltience . 179 

but about the Bible. The sun doesn’t 
grow old-fashioned, does it? and it only- 
gives light to our eyes, while the Bible 
gives light to our souls. We don’t tire 
of the moon and stars, nor of the beauties 
of creation ; and I never yet knew one 
that loved the Bible to tire of it. On 
the contrary, the more we read it, the 
more we love it, the richer and fresher 
it seems ; and this is one of the proofs 
that it is God’s Word.” 

“ Mother, do you know that your life 
is one of the greatest mysteries in the 
world to me? When you were a girl, 
you had everything to make you happy. 
Aunt Arabella told me all about it, and 
about ” — here the girl glanced toward 
the sleeping form in the chimney-corner. 
The heavy snoring assured her that, there 


i8o 


The McAllisters. 


was no danger of having another listener 
— “she told me about him — how happy 
you were together at first, and how he 
began to go down, and, in spite of all 
your struggles, how he brought you 
down. Mother, when you found that 
you couldn’t save him, why didn’t you 
leave him ? How could you bear the 
thought of a whole life bound to such a 
man as his wife f” An involuntary shud- 
der went over Nelly as she said this, 
looking at the poor victim of licensed 
crime. 

'Mrs. McAllister left her seat before 
the loom, and, taking a low rocker be- 
side her daughter, she sat for a few mo- 
ments with folded hands, as if recalling 
those long, painful years. She could not 
look back upon them yet without strong 


A Mother's Influence . 181 

emotion. Nelly looked from one to the 
other. The coarse imbruted form, the 
wreck of a once noble manhood, said as 
plainly as words can say, “ The wages of 
sin is death,” and the pure, saintly fea- 
tures of the mother said as plainly, “ But 
the gift of God is eternal life.” She 
had borne about this life of God in her 
soul, linked as she was to that body of 
death . Through the storms and darkness, 
when heart and flesh seemed about to fail 
her, this eternal life-principle had buoyed 
her up and strengthened her for duty 
and for trial. Nothing of all this, how- 
ever, entered Nelly’s mind as she looked 
upon her parents, as widely different in 
form and features as in their lives. She 
wondered at her mother’s choice, if she 
could love, if she ever had loved him, and 


182 


The McAllisters . 


if this was a type of marriage. If it was, 
she shuddered at the thought of what 
might be in the future for her. The 
wax-flowers were scattered around the 
table before her, and the natural ones, 
from which she was copying, were un- 
heeded, only as she was twisting them 
in pieces, careless of what she was doing. 

“ Nelly,” spoke the mother at last, 
“ I do not know but I have been wrong 
trying to keep back all that was repul- 
sive and unpleasant in our lives. It 
might have been better if you had known 
all, as your sister Maggie always did. 
It might have been a warning to you ; 
but I wanted you to respect your father 
as far as you possibly could, and we all 
wanted to make our darling pet happy.” 

** Yes, mother, I believe you all do try 


A Mothers Injltience. 183 

to spoil me. I have never taken hold of 
the hard things as dear, good Maggie 
and Kate have done. I do so love beau- 
tiful things and pleasant work. I’m afraid 
I’ve been selfish, darling mother.” 

“ No, my dear, I think not; but you 
are grown up now, and, by-and-by, we 
may lose you as we have the others from 
the home-nest. If I could make you 
realize what a fearfully, important step 
young girls take when they give their 
lives into another’s keeping, I would be 
willing to lay my own life and heart 
bare before you.” 

“ It shall be a sacred trust, my mo- 
ther.” 

“When I married your father, Nelly, 
I was a happy, thoughtless girl, as your 
Aunt Arabella told you, knowing nothing 


184 


The McAllisters . 


of hardship or trial. Sometimes people 
give their hearts where the better judg- 
ment does not approve ; and John was 
a little wild sometimes, but he said I 
could make him anything I wished, and 
I believed him. Everybody drank wine 
in those days, and temperance societies 
were not looked upon as favorably as 
they now are. All went well for seve- 
ral years, and, during that happy time, 
our children were given us. There was 
a revival in the town, and your father 
and I gave our hearts to God, and joined 
the church to which we still belong. 
Our children were also given to God, 
and we covenanted to bring them up ‘in 
the nurture and admonition of the Lord.’ 
In my darkest hours, I have remembered 
with gladness that you were all conse- 


A Mothers Influence . 185 

crated to Jesus, and my faith in his pro- 
mises has never once wavered. When 
your father first began to go down, it 
was very slowly, and I never thought it 
would end here. First he neglected ask- 
ing a blessing at the table, as he had 
always done, and then family prayer 
took up too much time. I tried for a 
while to read and pray myself with the 
children, but he grew so violent and 
abusive that I was forced to give it up. 
The secret was explained when, one 
night, he was brought home drunk. O 
my precious child! I pray God you may 
never know the agony I suffered that 
dreadful night. I did not close my eyes 
for one moment all that long, lonely 
night when I first began to realize that 
henceforth I was worse than widowed* 


i86 


The McAllisters . 


It was bad enough to endure his petu- 
lance and harshness, instead of the kind, 
loving words he once had for me ; but, 
when I came to know the cause , it al- 
most crushed me. Those were the dark- 
est hours I ever knew. He grew worse 
rapidly, and my friends tried to get me 
to leave him ; but, Nelly, I never could 

look upon the marriage vow as lightly 

% 

as some do. When that vow is once 
spoken, it binds me until death. That 
is the only divorce I could ever re- 
cognize. Oh ! how I tried to save that 
.man.” 

. A deep flush had crept into Mrs. McAl- 
lister’s face as she went over those dark, 
fearful days, and her hands were clasped 
tightly as if in pain ; and there was a 
;pain, keen and sharp as a dart, as the 


A Mothers Influence. 187 

memories of the old struggles came over 
her. 

“ I prayed for him, and strove to save 
him, as if my own soul were hanging over 
the flames which I knew threatened him, 
but all in vain I 

Here the poor woman sank back in 
her chair, and covered her face with her 
hands. Nelly had never seen her mo- 
ther so agitated, and she said : 

“ Don’t go on, dear mother ; it is so 
painful for you. I know it is dreadful, 
but father is waking again.” 

“ I thought I was stronger, darling ; 
but this evening, perhaps, I will tell you 
the rest.” 

With a long, deep yawn, Mr. McAllister 
roused himself, and, rising from his chair, 
he went to the shelf where he usually 


1 88 


The McAllisters. 


kept his pipes and tobacco, and, filling 
one, was soon enveloped in a cloud of 
smoke. Smoking and sleeping were his 
great resources now. There was not al- 
ways money for whiskey, for the com- 
forts and necessaries of life did not in- 
clude that, his children thought ; and 
the mother kept the purse. Consequently 
he was not often intoxicated ; but a life 
of dissipation had left its marks upon 
him which could never be erased. 

There was company in the afternoon 
and evening, for Mrs. McAllister had 
many friends who enjoyed a visit at her 
humble home, as well as the children, 
who were never long absent. 

Jt was the evening of the next day 
before they were again alone, and Nelly 
almost dreaded to hear her mother re- 


A Mothers Influence . 189 

sume the story of her life which had so 
agitated her; yet she dreaded to have 
her leave it in that saddest, darkest place. 
She felt somewhat reassured when her 
mother seated herself by the fireside, 
and took up her knitting, pleasantly say- 
ing: 

“ I will finish my story, to-night, Nelly.” 

She looked the picture of comfort, with 
the ruddy firelight dancing over her; and 
Nelly drew a low stool to her feet, and 
sat down upon it, resting one hand upon 
her knee. 

It was a pretty picture they made, the 
fair young maiden in the dew of youth 
looking up into the calm, placid face 
where the light of God’s love was shin- 
ing. 

“ I am afraid I made you sad, yester- 


190 


The McAllisters. 


day, Nelly dear, calling up those old, 
dark days.” 

“But you passed through them , mother. 
Why should I shrink from hearing about 
them?” 

“ They have gone into eternity, my 
child, and I hope never again to shadow 
your heart with them, for they were not 
all dark. The promise, ‘ Call upon me 
in the day of trouble, and I will answer 
thee,’ was mine, but not in just the way 
I expected. Prayer was not in vain ; 
but the blessings came upon my own 
heart, and upon my children, instead of 
their poor father for whom I prayed. 
My faith had been weak and wavering, 
and I was not always sure whether I 
loved God or not ; but, when I lifted up 
my heart in agony to God for help, he 


A Mother's Influence . 19 1 

came to me with such fulness of blessing, 
he gave me such assurance of faith, that 
I felt that he had set his seal upon me — 
Amt I was his for ever. From that time 
1 have trusted him as I have no earthly 
friend, and he has never failed me. I 
hope my dear Nelly will never need the 
bitter lessons that taught me where to 
find my best Friend. I love to see the 
young and happy give their hearts to 
Jesus. He is as precious a friend to 
them as to the sad and sorrowful.” 

“ I believe I already love my mother’s 
Friend,” answered Nelly. 

Mrs. McAllister clasped the small, fair 
hand which was laid confidingly upon 
her knee, and said : 

“ I want to present you, every one , to 
him, as I gave you in holy baptism. 1 


192 


The McAllisters . 


believe I shall say to him at that last 
great day, ‘ Here am I, and the children 
thou hast given me.’ But I must hasten 
with my story. There was a time when 
I had strong hope for him , for tempta- 
tion was removed. We enjoyed a pro- 
hibitory law, ‘ The Maine Law ’ it was 
called. We poor drunkards’ wives hailed 
it as the drowning man clutches at the 
plank which is his only hope ; and, Nelly, 
it is the only hope of poor drunkards 
and their families now ; but they took 
it from us. They will answer for that 
wrong at the judgment-bar of God, where 
all our wrongs shall be redressed. It 
was very hard, after we had enjoyed a 
year of happiness, to see all the places 
where misery, and death, and despair' 
were dealt out opened again, licensed 


A Mother's Influence. 193 

by law, and to know that our loved ones 
must go down under their baleful influ- 
ence, ‘ where their worm dieth not, and 
their fire is not quenched.’ I need not 
tell you the rest, for you remember too 
well You will never, I am sure, my 
darling, tempt the fate which has been 
your mother’s. Never trust a man who 
is even in the slightest degree given 
to dissipation. If he has not respect 
enough for his manhood to keep from 
drunkenness, he will not regard the feel- 
ings of his wife.” 

“You need have no fears for me, mo- 
ther. I never could love a man who is 
weak enough to tamper with liquors in 
any form. It looks foolhardy, when he 
must see how many slaves there are. 
It is just like putting the chains about 


194 


The McAllisters . 


his neck just for fun ; and, mother, they 
wear them, too, when they least suspect 
it. Other people can see them, even while 
they are prating of liberty and freedom, 
with the chains of the drunkard crush- 
ing them down into slavery.” 

“ It is dreadful, my child. Let us 
pray God that the time may soon come 
when the drunkard-maker shall stand 
before the law where he belongs, by the 
side of the robber and the murderer.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


FAREWELL GLANCES. 

HALL we make a farewell call 
upon our friends the. Goldens? 
The house is unchanged, but a 
fair, resolute young woman, “ Johnny’s ” 
wife, is the presiding genius now. John 
Golden is a tall, fine-looking man, with 
a kind, generous heart ; but the fatal 
infirmity which shadowed his boyhood 
clings to him still. Thanks to the in- 
fluence of his young wife, who watches 
over him with ever-jealous care, he is 
not often overcome by temptation ; yet 
the situations are reversed. The wife 
becomes the guardian of the husband. 




196 


The McAllisters . 


Instead of looking up to him in trust 
and confidence, and finding that rest in 
his love which every woman craves, she 
trembles when he goes away alone, not 
knowing how he may return. He can- 
not take care of himself. What has she 
to hope for? Yet, cheerful, and bright, 
and loving, she watches over and keeps 
him from excess ; and may be in time the 
demon may be laid, and the tireless 
watcher find her reward. 

Sam has a wife and children to love 
and care for, yet he is totally regardless 
of his duty. John McAllister, in his 
worst days, was never guilty of such ex- 
cesses as Sam Golden indulges in habitu- 
ally. His home is dark, cheerless, hope- 
less, as his future — in its saddest sense, 
the drunkard's home. Annette by no 


Farewell Glances. 


197 


means verifies her mother’s forebodings. 
She is happy and contented in her 
home, and is no longer the wife of a 
poor man, for Archie has proved that 
industry and good habits are a surer 
passport to wealth and honor than a rich 
father. Mr. and Mrs. Golden have a 
pleasant home in the village, where, but 
for the waywardness of their eldest son 
and the weakness of the younger, they 
might be happy. They never think of 
attributing their troubles to the false 
education they themselves gave their 
children, and never cease to wonder that 
Fanny’s children all turn out so well, 
while their own, with so much better 
advantages, improve them so badly. They 
almost think the inspired penman made 
a mistake when he said, “ Train up a 


198 


The McAllisters . 


child in the way he should go, and when 
he is old he will not depart from it,” for 
certainly their boys were not going at all 
in the way they should go. To see our- 
selves as God sees us, even “to see our- 
selves as others see us,” is a rare attain- 
ment, and would lead to wonderful 
changes if it could be brought about. 
We will glance hastily at Charley’s happy 
home, a Christian home, where the bright, 
beautiful children are brought up in the 
love and fear of God, where the rule 
that obtains is, “ To do good, and to com- 
municate, forget not.” Charity in giving, 
and that higher soul-charity, the crowning 
grace, is the ruling principle here. In 
Kate’s home we find peace, contentment, 
and happiness. Mr. and Mrs.. Merton 
join with all the other children in smooth- 


Farewell Glances . 


199 


ing the pathway of their honored parents, 
forgetful of the infirmity of the one, and 
deeply reverencing the nobility of the 
other. And Jemmy, too, with his plea- 
sant-faced wife and prattling children, he 
is an honorable man, “ thanks to mother 
and mother’s God,” he says. 

“ It would have been so easy for me 
to have gone the downward road, for I 
believe I inherited a love for the poison, 
and it met me everywhere. If she hadn’t 
held on to me every minute, and he hadn’t 
helped me, I must have fallen.” 

But the quicksands are parted, we 
trust, for now he has a well-grounded 
hope in Christ. Morning and evening, 
with his wife and children, he kneels in 
prayer for protection and guidance, and 
such are safe. We will tarry a few mo- 


200 


The McAllisters . 


ments in Maggie’s pleasant home before 
bidding our friends a final farewell. We 
should know her in a moment, for time 
has but brushed her with his wings, and 
the clear gray eyes sparkle as resolutely 
as ever, and the short crisp curls look as 
independent. She has the brisk, energetic 
step of old as she bustles in and out, for 
“ mother is here to-day,” and that is a 
pleasure she always highly appreciates. 
The pleasant brown cottage is their own, 
so she may improve and beautify it to 
her heart’s content. The large green 
yard is full of the brightest flowers. 

“ Foolish little woman, to slave your- 
self so to your flowers,” says the indul- 
gent husband, wheeling dirt, and making 
flower-beds, and watching their growing 
beauties all the while, for he loved flowers 


Farewell Glances . 


201 


— the cherub boy who brightened their 
home four short years, and then went 
home among the angels to win their 
footsteps heavenward. 

Mother is here, and the choicest flowers 
are cut to decorate the table and the 
mantelpieces ; and the house is bright 
with bloom, and sweet with the fragrance 
of flowers and good-humor. 

“ You seem to be very happy, my dear,” 
said the fond mother, looking around the 
pleasant room, out into the orchard, where 
the trees were laden with ripening fruit, 
and to the smooth meadows beyond. 
“You have ail that you need, so that 
you never know want, good health, a 
kind husband, and, best of all, the love 
of God in your heart.” 

“Yes, mother, that is best of all, and 


202 


The McAllisters . 


all the rest would be empty enough with- 
out it; but isn't it strange we never can 

<1 

feel entirely satisfied ? I love my home, 
but that tavern across the way torments 
me almost beyond endurance. If I did 
not care for any one but myself, it would 
not appear so dreadful, may be ; but I re- 
member, and when I -see young men, good, 
kind-hearted, noble young men some of 
them are, going in there, I feel as if I 
must cry out sometimes and tell them of 
their danger. They drink and gamble 
there, and it is one of the very breathing- 
holes of perdition. You cannot see the 
flames — only the poor scorched victims.” 

“ It is very strange that in this peace- 
ful country neighborhood such a house 
should be licensed, Maggie.” 

o 

‘‘Yes indeed, mother; but it is not so 


Farewell Glances. 


203 


peaceful as you imagine. That rumseller 
has left his mark in nearly every house 
in this neighborhood. A young man who 
lived here last winter drank at his bar 
till the liquor maddened him, and then 
attempted to go home. You see that high 
bank below the house ? It drops off al- 
most perpendicularly to the bed of the 
brook, and is nearly forty feet high. He 
rolled off that bank, and down to the bot- 
tom, tearing his clothes, and face, and 
hands on the bushes ; and then he ima- 
gined he was on the river-bank, and if 
he stirred he would fall in, so he lay 
still and yelled till help came and got 
him up into the road again. Then he 
went home, and beat his wife and child, 
and turned them out of doors. He broke 
the dishes rpon the table, and every- 


204 


The McAllisters . 


thing that he could lay his hands upon, 
raving and cursing all the while like a 
demon.” 

“ What became of the poor wife, Mag- 
gie?” 

“ She never went back, and I’m glad 
of it. She was only a young girl, and 
she took her child and went to her fa- 
ther’s house. Then there is that fine- 
looking young blacksmith. He has de- 
lirium tremens, and tries to kill his patient 
wife sometimes in his drunken sprees. 
Only a few days ago the neighbors had 
to go in and take an axe away from 
him, or he would have killed them all.” 

“ It don’t seem possible that such dread- 
ful things are going on under the protec- 
tion of law in this peaceful-looking neigh- 
borhood.” 


Farewell Glances. 


205 


“ That is the worst of it, mother. Men 
are licensed by law to do this terrible 
sin. I don’t know as I have an enemy 
but what I can forgive and love in some 
fashion but these rumsellers . I’m afraid I 
hate them as bad as ever; and if I love 
God ever so much, I hate them all the 
same.” 

“ Can’t you hate and abhor the crime, 
and pity the criminal, Maggie? Can’t 
you 4 hate the sin, and yet the sinner 
love’? Our Saviour does that.” 

“ When they will stop selling rum, I 
might think of it ; but when they are 
going on all the same, ruining souls for a 
little worthless money, don’t ask me.” 

“ On the old subject, Maggie?” queried 
George, who just then entered. “ There’s 
a sore spot in my little woman’s heart 


20 6 


The McAllisters . 


that don’t get healed over, and she does 
get excited sometimes when she thinks 
of it. I wish you could forget, Maggie.” 

“ Oh ! I wish I could, George ; but 
how can I when I see men destroying 
themselves every day? — somebody’s fa- 
thers, somebody’s brothers. If the time 
ever comes — and I believe it will — when 
the law shall cease to license this dread- 
ful crime, I will thank God and be happy.” 

“ Are you not happy now, foolish little 
woman ? Must somebody else’s misdoings 
destroy your happiness utterly?” 

“ No indeed, George ; but you must 
let me speak out once in a while, or my 
heart would burst. All these cruel wrongs 
shall be righted one day.” 

“ Yes, child, cling to that faith,” said 
the mother; “and I suppose every one, 


Farewell Glances. 207 

however humble, will bear some part in 
the work. God works with human hands. 
He inspires human hands to carry on his 
great work, and it takes a great many 
true words to produce convictions of 
great truths sometimes. It takes a great 
many stones to make a building, but one 
little one would be missed ; so I hope 
every humble worker will take courage, 
and work on, remembering that ‘ truth 
is great, and must prevail/ The time 
will come when the people of this land 
shall enjoy the protection of a prohibitory 
law, and when there shall be enough virtu- 
ous men to enforce it” 

“ You talk grandly, darling mother. 
God grant you may be a true prophet.” 

It is customary in winding up a story 
to bring all the parties into the blissful 


208 


The McAllisters . 


estate of matrimony, and there leave them ; 
but in tracing the life-history through 
which you have patiently followed us, 
kind reader, we must take you to a death- 
bed. 

John McAllister had enjoyed his usual 
health, and, when the holy Sabbath came, 
he repaired to the church, as he some- 
times did of late, and seemed to listen 
intently to the words of the man of God 
What his thoughts were on that last 
Sabbath on which he should hear the 
Gospel invitations, no one could know. 
People noticed the attentive listener, and 
more than one earnest prayer arose from 
Christian hearts that the message of mercy 
might reach him. They could not see 
the death-angel even then with up- 
lifted dart waiting for the summons to 


Farewell Glances . 


209 


strike ; but early on Monday morning the 
news was handed from lip to lip that 
Mr. McAllister was stricken with paraly- 
sis, and lay upon the bed of death. The 
minister visited and prayed with him, 
but he gave no signs of recognition. His 
children wept over him ; and the true, 
faithful wife, who had clung to him through 
all his degradation, said, weeping, “ If 
we could only know that he is prepared 
to die, death would lose all its bitterness; 
but we will leave him in the hands of 
God.” Ah ! where else can the burdened 
soul go with its load of grief and sorrow ? 
— where but unto him who has said, “ Cast 
thy burden on the Lord, and he will 
sustain thee, and strengthen thee, and 
comfort thee.” There was no shad.ow 
of remorse mingled with the sorrow the 


210 


The McAllisters . 


wife of John McAllister felt as she laid 
the husband of her youth under the sod 
of the valley. 

She had never murmured at the bitter- 
ness of her earthly lot ; but her life-task 
was ended now. 

“ Now, mother, you must come home 

✓ 

with us.” “ Now, mother, you must rest, 
and let us take care of you,” the chil- 
dren all contended. 

“ This doesn’t look much like being left 
in my old age to die alone because I 
have outlived my usefulness” said Mrs. 
McAllister, with glad, happy tears. 

“ A mother can never outlive her use- 
fulness, ours especially,” answered Nelly ; 
“ but I have not commenced mine ; so, 
instead of availing myself of any of the 
kind offers of a home my brothers and 


Farewell Glances . 


21 1 


sisters have made, I will visit them now 
and then, while I try to do something 
for myself. I will not be an idler any 
longer, mother, in this busy world.” 

So the log-house is deserted, and the 
ruin looks cheerless and desolate enough, 
for the old walls cannot repeat the life- 
histories which have transpired within 
its walls. Mrs. McAllister divides her 
time among her children, among whom 
she is always a welcome and honored 
guest. The evening of her days is like 
a beautiful sunset, for around it the glow- 
ing radiance of a life spent in fellowship 
with God, and in doing good, mingles 
and glows in sacred beauty ; and we know 
that surely at the last it shall fade into 
the light of heaven ! 








































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